


I Believe You: The Missing Scenes

by wendellgee



Series: I Believe You 'Verse [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Harry Potter, Clueless Draco, Diary/Journal, Drunk Draco, Feels, Friends to Lovers, HP: EWE, M/M, Missing Scenes, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Public Sex, Rimming, Silly Draco, Top Draco Malfoy, all the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-06-06 15:38:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 35,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6759811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendellgee/pseuds/wendellgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reeling from his role in the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco finds comfort in Harry Potter and obsessively details their relationship in his journal.</p><p>This is a companion piece to my fic "I Believe You" and features a bunch of missing scenes as recorded by Draco himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 5 May 1998 - Holding Hands

**Author's Note:**

> In honour of hitting 502 kudos on 5/2, I offer up this un-beta'd disaster. 
> 
> This could probably be read as a standalone, but it does refer to events in my other fic, ["I Believe You"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3364991/chapters/7359482). 
> 
> As always, I own nothing except my belief that Draco is a more sympathetic character than JKR thinks he is. (But that might be Tom Felton's fault...)

I just had sex with Pansy, and it was Potter’s face I saw when I came.

**_POTTER'S. FACE._ **

I suppose that says a lot about the last seven years of my life… and if not those, at least the last three days. 

We’ve spent the last three days together, he and I. I’m still not quite sure how it happened, but after the final battle, we ended up under a tree by the lake, hiding from the world. He fell asleep on my shoulder, and it felt so intimate that it freaked me out. The Saviour and the Death Eater. It was surreal. I ended up pushing him away when it got to be too much and then fled for the “safety” of the Manor. Going home was not something I looked forward to. Ever since it became Death Eater HQ, the house has felt tainted. As if the Dark Magic had claimed it as its own. It probably had. 

Father is free, for the moment. I suppose it won’t be long until they come for him. I think he switched sides too late this time and he’ll be treated as a Death Eater. He deserves whatever is going to happen to him; he was the Dark Lord’s right-hand man, after all. I just hope that they spare me. Despite the Mark on my arm, I never wanted any of this. I’m terrified that I signed my death warrant that day. 

I need to get out of the Manor. I no longer feel safe here. 

I’ve only felt safe in one place since leaving Hogwarts: Potter’s.

The next day, he invited me over to his house. I was surprised by the invitation. He should have been with the Weasleys, celebrating, or whatever. Instead, he invited me to his home so that he could return my wand. He didn’t have to do that; I’d lost it and assumed I’d never see it again. I don’t know why he saved it. He could have destroyed it. I would have. After he gave it back to me, I lingered, unsure as to what I should do next. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye and walk out of his life forever. He could have thrown me out of his house at that point, but he looked as unsure as I felt. Instead of telling me to leave, he told me I was staying for dinner. It was just sandwiches, but they were the best I’d ever had. 

I can’t stop thinking about Potter. It felt right to be with him. We sat there, in silence, perfectly content to spend time in the company of our childhood nemesis. He had called a truce, and whilst odd, it felt normal to be there.

I’m not going to tell anyone I’m spending time with him. I don’t want anyone to tell me I _shouldn’t_ be spending time with him. If he’s to be the end of me, so be it. One way or the other, I’ll be spending as much time with him as I can get away with. I don’t understand why he has this effect on me. I’m not sure I want to understand. 

The need to see him is overpowering and yesterday, I decided to invite myself over for dinner. I used the excuse that I wanted to thank him for returning my wand, but it was more than that. I need him like I need air. It’s ridiculous. He shouldn’t make me feel this way. 

So, last night, I brought him a picnic dinner. I wasn’t sure what he’d like, so I went overboard. He ate simply: choosing the sweet corn and some grilled chicken. If I had known he had such an unassuming palate, I wouldn’t have packed the caviar and wine. In retrospect, I should have known better. Harry Potter is not the type of person who puts on airs.

After dinner, we sat and watched the light of the fire play on the walls. I used to associate fire with shagging Pansy in front of the fireplace in my room, but I knew that from that point on, fire would belong to Potter and I. I let it slip that I didn’t ever want to return to the Manor and he told me he didn’t want to stay with the Weasleys. I asked him if he was going to hide out at Grimmauld place forever, and he asked me if I was going to as well. I couldn’t tell him that I hoped so…

He was already laying on his back when I decided to stretch out next to him. I moved so that we were pressed together from hips to toes. The feel of his body pressed against mine grounded me; it felt like home. I can spend the rest of my life with him and it won't be long enough. 

After a while, I slid my hand so that it brushed against his. He intertwined his fingers with mine and squeezed. He refused to talk about it, but that was fine with me. 

Talking about why we were holding hands would have made it awkward, and probably would have ruined this fragile truce between us. It’s nice to know that he was feeling whatever I was feeling, in that moment. 

We fell asleep in front of the fire. I woke up to his head on my chest and our arms wrapped around each other. He woke up briefly, and we changed positions. To fall asleep to the steady beat of Potter’s heart was… I don’t have the words… 

I woke up a second time and decided to leave before Mother noticed I was missing. I didn’t want him to sleep on the floor, so I decided to put him in his bed. It was nearly impossible to get him to his room. As slim as he was, he was all muscle, and I had to use a combination of magic and brute force to get him into his bed. I left him fully clothed; I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about what had happened. Not that anything would have. Not now. Maybe not ever. 

I wish I hadn’t left him. I wish I had gotten into bed with him. I wish I could think of a reason to see him again. I need to think of a reason to see him again.

I can still feel his fingers intertwined with mine. I can still feel the warmth of his body as it pressed against mine. I can still smell the cheap shampoo he uses.

Every second of our encounters has been written upon my memory in indelible ink. I don’t want to forget a moment of this. Even if it never happens again, I want to remember that, in this strange new world, Potter and I were able to transcend our pasts and become something more. Even if only for a brief moment.

…And then Pansy happened. 

I didn’t mean to sleep with her, but she came over this morning. She was there. Familiar. We’ve been friends with benefits since Fourth Year, when we lost our virginity to the other. She was the one I was going to marry. The one Father wanted me to marry, at a minimum. The Parkinson family had been interested in the Malfoy fortune for a long time and it was easy to be with her. She worshipped me, spoilt me, went out of her way to make me happy. She would have made a perfect girlfriend, a perfect wife, but I didn’t want the commitment. Not then. Not with her. I know now that she will never make me happy. She’s too… something. I don’t have a word, but whatever she is, it’s not appealing to me.

She’s always been a good lay, though. She knows just how to touch me, to get me achingly hard even when I’m not in the mood. Don’t get me started on her mouth - it is totally wicked. She does things with her tongue that make me wish she actually liked blowing me, instead of slicking me up for easy entry. She prefers to ride me; she thinks my being on my back, letting her take control of the depth and speed is hot. It doesn’t do much for me and more often than not, she’s the one on her back, knees on my shoulders, taking it as I fuck her so hard the headboard bangs against the wall. Today, I let her ride me. Despite my cock’s interest in the scenario, I couldn’t be arsed to do any work. 

I came in record time, before she even had a chance to really find a rhythm, picturing the perfect combination of bright emerald eyes, messy black hair, and a crooked grin.

He didn’t have to let me press against him. He didn’t have to let me brush against his hand. He didn’t have to intertwine his fingers with mine. He certainly didn’t have to squeeze my hand. More importantly, he didn’t have to say he didn’t want to talk about it. 

His refusal to discuss it just lends credence to the fact that there was something between us. Three days into our truce and we’re holding hands. How long before it progresses to something more? Will it progress to something more? Do I want it to become something more? More importantly, what is he thinking about this, about me? Does he want this to be something more? 

What was the reason he focussed on me for seven years? I was nothing to him; just some spoilt brat shooting my mouth off in a robe shop. I offered him friendship, which he declined. Our fates were sealed the moment he was chosen for Gryffindor, maybe as far back as the night his parents died, the night he got that scar.

I have to be reading too much into simply holding hands. It’s nothing. He needed my strength, like I needed his. We were alone, but not lonely. We were not Light and Dark; we were a glorious shade of grey. Together we would face this world; together we would survive this world. Together.

 _Merlin_. I’m definitely reading too much into this. It’s been four days since he called the truce. Three nights that I’ve spent with him. Four days and three nights after eight years of being enemies. It’s too fast to start feeling what I think I’m feeling. Or has it always been there and I was just too stupid, too naive, too distracted, to notice?

 **No.** There’s nothing there. _There’s **absolutely nothing** there._ There can’t be. Not as long as I’m Draco Malfoy, Death Eater. And certainly not as long as he’s Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One… the Saviour of the Wizarding World. 

We just held hands. That’s it. We’re just two men - two boys, really - in desperate need of some companionship, A way to chase away the Dark that has defined both of us for too long. We were starved for touch. Starved for comfort. Trying to distract ourselves from everything, everyone, we’ve lost. That’s all. 

It’s nothing. It means nothing. We held hands. Lots of people do that without it becoming more.

I’m curious, though… How did we go from holding hands to my picturing his face when I came? 

I’m not sexually attracted to Potter. I can’t be. 

So… why do I feel like I cheated on him? 


	2. 6 June 1998 - Life Begins Again

Potter’s in the shower… and I’m still in my pyjamas. Still in his bed.

He knew my birthday was yesterday. He even bought me chocolate and a fairy cake from Honeydukes. I didn’t get to eat very much of the cake. Trying to share it with him resulting in it being mashed against both our faces. It reminded me of weddings, when the bride and groom feed each other pieces of their wedding cake. I’m not sure what it means - that that’s the first place my head went to - and I don’t want to find out.

I don’t ever want to go back to the Manor. In fact, that was wish I made: I wanted to spend even more time with Potter, not talking, and falling asleep in front of the fireplace. 

Fred’s funeral was a turning point for us. 

I had gotten pissed after Pansy left and went to Potter’s to hide for the day. Even though he was at the funeral, I still couldn’t stay away. 

When Potter finally returned, it was clear that he had also gotten totally pissed whilst at the Weasely’s. Drunk or not, he was still thrilled to see me. I was happy until he mentioned that he had kissed Ginny, but then he said he hadn’t liked it. He asked me to spend the night and I couldn’t say no. I don’t think I could ever tell him no… even though I did refuse to join him in his bed. Once again, I didn’t want to take advantage of the situation. If he had been sober, I might have crawled into his bed in a heartbeat. But I couldn’t. Not like that. 

Since then, I’ve been putting off going home, to the point that when he wakes up and goes to his bed, I move onto his couch. I always woke up early though, and returned to the Manor before I was missed. That might be a bit of an over exaggeration. I’m not sure anyone noticed that I wasn’t hiding in my room. They certainly don’t notice that I leave every night after dinner to return to him.

It took six days before I effectively moved in with Potter. Six days.

Yes, despite the fact that I return to the Manor daily, I’ve moved in with Potter. I’m leaving clothes here and my bedding covers the couch. I definitely spend more time here than I do at the Manor, even if most of it is spent sleeping on the floor, or the couch. It doesn’t matter to me. Any moment in his presence is good. Besides, we always curl up to each other in our sleep. Waking up to those bright green eyes taking in my face, his hand running through my hair, brushing it off my face… it’s so intimate, but there’s never the promise of anything more.

Tonight, everything changed.

We kissed earlier. 

Oh, fucking Merlin, was it good! 

I had wanted it so badly that I made the first move, and hoped he got the hint. 

He did. 

There wasn’t that much to it. Just our lips moving against each other’s. 

But.

We kissed.

**Harry. Bloody. Potter. Kissed. _Me._**

There was no tongue, no desperate groping, nothing that would indicate passion. Nothing. That’s not to say it was a kiss between friends. Friends don’t kiss. Not like that. It doesn’t necessarily give me hope for the future, but at least we weren’t drunk. He kissed me while we were both stone cold sober. There could be no mistaking the intention. 

It wasn’t until Potter pulled away and smiled that I thought - maybe - he enjoyed it, too. 

I hoped that there would be more. There wasn’t. Just the one simple kiss. 

Then he told me to take his bed. He would take the couch.

That wasn’t acceptable to me, and I told him as much. It did take a little convincing, but he did follow me to his room. At that point, he told me what my real birthday present was: a key and my own bedroom. He’d already relaxed the wards and given me permission to come and go as I pleased, but it was nice to know I was going to have a key and my own bedroom. The bedroom wasn’t ready yet - something about doxies, maybe? I don’t remember - but that wasn’t the point. Potter officially told me he was OK with me moving in with him.

I had to tell him that Mother and Father went to our villa in France and that I wouldn’t be joining them. He seemed shocked by the fact that I wouldn’t be going to France, but he took it in stride. I was glad he didn’t try to talk me into going with them. Instead, he made me breakfast in bed.

Breakfast. In. Bed.

_Harry Potter made me breakfast in bed._

I can only imagine what the Wizarding World would say about that. I’m not sure I care.

All I know is, as long as I’m with him, I feel like a different person, like my life is beginning again, like I'm getting a second chance. 

There's a new version of Draco Malfoy. One that might have been had my father not been Lucius Malfoy. Had I not been a pureblood. Had I not been forced to become a Death Eater.

I like this person. I hope Potter does, too. 

He wouldn’t have kissed me otherwise, would he? 

Why _did_ he kiss me?

ARGH! Look at me. He’s turned me into a bloody bird. 

He’s confusing. Maddening. Sexy. A great kisser. 

_My roommate._

It would do me well to remember that.

He hasn’t done anything that would lead me to believe we’ll ever be anything more. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to be able to stop thinking about him. 

It definitely doesn’t mean that I’m going to stop wanking whilst thinking about his lips on mine…

I wonder if he thinks about me when he tosses off. 

I hope so.


	3. 21 July 1998 - Lost It

Potter and I had an argument earlier.

An argument that has irrevocably changed the course of our friendship. Things can never go back to the way they were several months ago. Not now. 

We were talking about where he would sleep when we went to France tomorrow, and it snowballed from there. Before either of us knew it, we were screaming at each other about the fact that nothing has happened between us and that we both wanted more. 

Only Potter and I can get into a screaming match about how much we want to be with other. Only Potter and I can escalate a screaming match about wanting to be with each other to the point where we end up fucking.

The fight was done the moment he asked, “Do you want me?" I could feel his hot breath on my neck mere seconds before his hands grabbed my hips. He pulled me against him, and there was a certain hardness that hadn't been there before. He rotated his hips slowly, making sure that I was aware of his interest in me. "Answer me, Malfoy," he growled into my ear.

I wanted him. I want him. I will want him. I have wanted him. I will always want him. Are there any more ways to express that in the English language? If there are, I need to learn them.

We kissed and moved to his room, shedding our clothing as we went. By the time we hit his bed, we were both naked. I pushed him onto his back and crawled on top of him. I straddled his waist and pulled his glasses off. Once his glasses were safe, I allowed myself to look at him. He was beautiful. His hair was a complete disaster, part of it just his normal messiness, the rest of it due to my fingers running through it whilst we kissed and stumbled through the house. There was a faint blush colouring his cheeks and those green eyes, those beautiful green eyes, they made me melt. “Merlin, Potter.” I struggled to catch my breath. “You…”

“Shut up, and kiss me, Malfoy.” He reached up and I let him pull me down. Our lips met and instead of the violent clashing of lips and teeth from earlier, it was soft and tender. I moved to the side and stretched out along his body. Desperate for air, I broke the kiss and buried my face in the crook of his neck. He kissed the top of my head and wherever he could reach, his hands roaming all over my body. I groaned and nipped at his neck.

The sharp pain made him stop. I was expecting him to yell at me for biting him, but he looked at me and asked if I could do it again. I did as he asked, mouthing at the skin where his neck met his shoulder and licking it before nipping at it again. He moaned and his fingers tightened in my hair. I tried it a third time and he pulled my hair even harder. 

_Note to self: Potter likes pain. That knowledge turns me on more that it probably should._

My hand drifted down his body and I grasped his cock in my hand. The head was soaked with his pre-come, and I used my thumb to smear it over the sensitive skin. I’d never touched another man before, but it wasn’t that different from touching myself, if I’m going to be honest. The only difference - the best difference - was that I got to watch Potter’s face and see what I was doing to him. I hadn’t even done much, and he was falling apart. 

I stroked him slowly. He was already hard, but it felt like he was growing even harder in my hand. I was so hard it hurt and I could feel the dampness on my belly from my leaking cock. Potter grabbed my head in both his hands and kissed me with everything he had. His tongue plundered my mouth and he moaned, loudly, as my hand picked up speed. He pushed me away roughly and I swallowed hard, wondering if I’d gone too far. “Are you OK, Potter?”

“Fine. Better than fine,” he panted. “I’m close. Don’t want to. Not yet.” He struggled to get the words out. 

“Sssshhhhh.” I cupped his chin in my hand and brushed my thumb over his cheekbones. “Breathe.” 

He gasped for air, and I could see him get himself under control. Literally. It was fascinating to watch him steel his resolve and refocus. Once he could breathe normally again, he reached down and fondled my balls. “Have you ever…” His eyes, that beautiful rich green, mostly hidden by his blown out pupils, locked onto mine and the unspoken words were clear.

“No. You?” 

“No.” He licked his lips and bit his bottom lip. He looked so unsure of himself for a moment, that I could clearly see the scared child he must have been when Diggory died. He took a deep breath and said the six most amazing words I’ve ever heard in my life. “I want you to fuck me.”

I swallowed hard and sat up, shocked by what he had just said. “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Yes.” He rolled away from me and fumbled with the drawer on the nightstand. He could have pulled out his wand and accio’d whatever he was looking for, but when I gave up my wand, so did he. Whatever he was looking for, he couldn’t find. He sat up and dumped the drawer on the bed. Once he found what he was looking for - a bottle of lubricant - he handed it to me and swept the rest of the drawer’s contents onto the floor. “Please?” 

“Last chance, Potter. Are you sure?” I was - still am - nervous that this was too much too fast. 

He wasn’t having any of it. “For fuck’s sake, Malfoy! I want your cock in my arse!” Any doubt I had then disappeared. We were going to do this. Despite Potter’s attitude, I was really nervous and my erection had started to wane. He realised that something was wrong and he looked down at my lap. “Oh.” 

“It-it-it-it’s nerves.” I couldn’t meet his eyes. “This is different than my first time with Pansy…”

“Because I’m a bloke?” His voice was soft. “I thought…”

“No. It has nothing to do with that. It’s… you’re you. And I’m me.”

He moved closer to me, practically sitting in my lap. “I’m not afraid,” he whispered. “I’m not.” He gently took the bottle from my hand and placed it on the nightstand, within arm’s reach. He lay back down, brought his heels to his arse and let his knees fall to the side, as far as they could go. He put himself on display and then, he started to stroke himself. He didn’t do it for very long before he grabbed the lube and poured quite a bit into the palm of his hand. He covered his cock in it and then made sure the fingers on his left hand were well lubricated. I watched, open-mouthed as his fingers found the puckered skin and pressed in. His right hand encircled his cock again, stroking himself slowly as he worked his fingers in deeper. “Do you like watching, Malfoy?”

_Note to self: Potter is a pervy little bastard when he wants to be._

My mouth was suddenly very dry. I did like watching. I do like watching… and I hope I get to see it again. Soon. I extended my hand to grab the lube and he stopped what he was doing long enough to make sure my fingers were slicked up. Then he guided them to his hole. He may have never been with another man, but he’d definitely done his fair share of experimenting, and I was about to benefit from that. He pushed just hard enough for my index finger to slide in a little bit. I watched, transfixed, as my finger slid into him. He rocked his hips and it slid in deeper. I pulled my finger out slowly and slid it back in. His hands grabbed the sheets and he moaned as he rocked his hips again. “Another.” 

I pulled my index finger out, applied more lube and then pushed two fingers into him. He hissed as they breached the tight ring of muscle, and I stopped, afraid I had hurt him. “More,” he demanded. I began to fuck him again with my fingers. He moved and my fingers slid all the way in. I bumped against something hard and he yelped. “Do that again!” I found the little nub and rubbed it again. Whatever I had found was good. Very good. 

His cock was leaking on his belly, leaving a small puddle, as he watched me watch my fingers sliding in and out of him. My erection was back with a vengeance and I was ready.

I slicked myself up and positioned myself so I could slide into him. I missed. Twice. The third time was the charm, and we both gasped as I pushed into him. He grabbed a pillow and put it under his lower back and then brought his legs up to wrap around me as I continued my slow slide into him. The heat, the velvety smooth skin, those green eyes, open, alert, watching me… it was almost too much to take. I pictured Snape, teaching class. The thought of his greasy hair, hooked nose, and permanent scowl distracted me enough so that I could finish sliding into Potter without coming. 

I felt on top of him and began moving my hips slowly. He rocked with me, forcing me to move faster, to fuck him harder. He was so responsive, that I ended up taking him as hard and fast as I could. I was so focused on not coming that I didn’t even feel his hand slide between us. He wanked himself until he came. I barely registered that he had coated my stomach as well as his with his come, so focussed was I on the fact that as he came, his muscles tightened around me. It was almost too much to bear. I thrust a few more times, trying valiantly to last a little longer. It felt too good, though. Potter had been whining, mewling, growling, and chanting my name the entire time and the combination of the noises and the perfection of his arse proved to be too much and I tipped over the edge. 

I saw his face again when I came. At least, this time, it wasn’t my imagination…

I pulled out of him slowly and watched as my come ran out of his arse. I looked at his face. It was all splotchy pink and his fringe was sticking to his forehead. He was completely and utterly debauched, and I had done that to him. 

_I had just rocked Harry Potter’s world._

"Fuck, Malfoy, that was incredible." 

"It was," I said, settling myself against him, unable to believe what had just happened.

"And you're OK?" There was so much concern, so much love, in those eyes, that I melted. I could feel myself literally melting into him; the two of us becoming one again.

"I'm just fine." I wanted to tell him I loved him, right then and there, but I was terrified to do it. Despite everything, it felt like I'd be crossing a line.

As if he could read my thoughts, he pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "I know," he whispered. He could have known anything, I guess, but I knew he knew. 

—————

I woke up in Potter’s arms, his erection resting comfortably in between my arse cheeks. His hand was softly stroking my stomach and his lips were pressing against my neck. I placed my hand over his, not to stop him, but to let him know I was awake. I could feel his lips move against my neck; he was smiling. I wriggled backwards a bit so that he was pressed even tighter against my body, trying to give him a little more friction. He moved his hips, rutting against me, as he kissed the back of my neck. “Mmmmmm… Potter, what are you doing?”

“Trying to wake you up so I can suck your cock,” he whispered, his breath blowing across the hairs on my neck. 

I rolled over, smiling brightly. “You have the filthiest mouth, Potter.” I kissed him softly on the cheek.

“I’m only telling you the truth.” He nipped at my earlobe and slid his hand back down to my hip. We were still naked and our cocks were rubbing together. “I bet you taste incredible.” I was about to say something about the fact that there was dried come on my stomach and I’d been in his arse, but he whispered something and the mess disappeared. I also felt a tingling in a place I hadn’t expected. He had such a cheeky grin on his face, I wanted to smack it off of him. “Cleaning spell for gay wizards. I used it earlier on myself.”

I’d been so overwhelmed by the idea of fucking him, I hadn’t thought about that. “Oh. Well, thanks. I guess.”

“I’m sorry we jumped right to that. I wanted to take my time and do it properly.” He looked down and grabbed my hand. He picked it up and placed it against his heart. It was pounding so hard, I thought it was going to pop out of his chest. “I wanted to make love to you our first time.”

I nodded. I understood what he was saying. “The great thing about a first time is that there means there’s going to be a second time.” 

“And a third…” He trailed off, kissing his way down my neck. “And a fourth.”

“And a millionth.” I laughed, cutting it off abruptly when he took a nipple in his mouth. He tugged slightly and I jumped. “Ouch!”

“Did I hurt you?” Concern was written all over his face.

“Surprised me. I don’t really like when… people… play with my nipples. It doesn’t do much for me. My earlobes, however…” 

“Earlobes, huh?” Potter smirked but then busied himself kissing all over my chest. He came back up and kissed me soundly, his tongue sweeping through my mouth. His hand encircled my erection loosely. Just enough to feel good, not enough to do anything. My brain was already going fuzzy around the edges; all I was aware of was _PotterPotterPotterPotter…_ He moved to my neck, licking and biting. I was going to be a huge mess when we went to my parents’ villa, but I didn’t care. His hand tightened around me and I thrust into it. I tried to reach down and return the favour, but he pushed my hand away. “My turn to make you feel good.”

I made some sort of sound, halfway between a sob and a moan when his talented mouth finally made its way down to my leaking cock. It might not have been the best blow job I’d ever had, but it was good. “Will you.. I want you to… Can we…” I couldn’t get the words out. Potter may have experimented on himself, but I’d never once thought about touching myself there. I wondered what it would feel like.

He pulled off of me, making a loud popping sound. “Don’t feel like you have to. I know it’s not for everyone, and you seem more like you’d want to top.”

“I want to try it and decide for myself,” I said, my eyes closed tight. I was afraid to look at him. He just had my cock in his mouth, and I’d been balls deep in his arse, but I couldn’t look at him as I asked him to touch me in my most private, most sacred, of parts. “Please.”

“Open your eyes and hand me the lube. I’ll be gentle, but I have to warn you, it feels kind of funny and it hurts the first few times.”

“It does?” Way to kill the mood, Potter. 

“It does. It takes some getting used to, but it feels good once you get used to it.” I closed my eyes again. Fucking Potter. Why did he have to be so smart? So gentle? His thumb gently rubbed along my cheekbone. “You’ve really never?”

“Never. And before you ask, no. Pansy was boring.”

He chuckled. “I’m not Pansy.” He shifted and lay down next to me, gathering me in his arms. He ran his fingers through my hair and pressed his lips against the side of my head. “Please, tell me if…”

“I will.” I opened my eyes again. I couldn't stand the look on his face. He loved me. It was written all over his face. The tenderness, the care, the uncertainty, the nerves… it was all there. “I want to try,” I said, the words conveying more bravery than I felt. 

“OK. Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” I snorted. “Well, any more than I need to.”

I let go of a breath I didn’t know I was holding and he kissed his way back down my body. I could hear the click of the cap on the bottle of lube and waited for the cold liquid to hit my skin. Before I could really start to freak out about what we were doing, he took me in his mouth again. I had gotten soft, but the wet heat of his mouth and that wicked tongue, got me painfully hard again. I was pleasantly distracted by the blow job when I felt a finger rubbing outside of my hole. That wasn’t so bad. It felt OK. 

Potter’s finger pressed in, causing me to gasp. It still wasn’t bad. It was… different. I propped myself up so that I could see what he was doing and his eyes met mine. He was still working me with his mouth, and it felt better than it had before. He slid his finger in deeper and I bit my bottom lip. It didn’t hurt, per se, but it was uncomfortable. “Potter,” I gasped. 

He stopped immediately. “Am I hurting you?”

“I don’t know.” 

He slowly pulled his finger out, covered it in more lube, and pushed it back in. He’d been over zealous with the lube and there was very little friction. It was tight and he really had to push. “Better?”

“I don’t know.” I bit my lip again and fell back onto the pillow. “Don’t stop.” 

He used one finger on me for a long time. By the time he had fully stretched me and gotten me used to the feeling, it literally had been hours. He’d stopped and started the blow job so many times, I was out of my mind with want. If he touched me again, I was going to explode. I will give him credit for the way he was able to distract me, but I was still overtly aware of what his fingers were doing the entire time. He pulled his fingers out and slid back up my body. “Are you ready,” he asked, between soft kisses. I nodded. He lay on his back, and pulled me on top of him. “It might be better if you ride me. You can control what we're doing.”

I knelt over him and let him help me guide his cock to my hole. I didn’t think it was possible to be stretched more than I already was, but he felt huge. I took my time and watched his face as I worked my way down. It was worse than I had expected. I already knew that I didn’t enjoy it nearly as much as Potter had seemed to, but I was determined to finish. It took me forever to slide all the way down and I really hated being so full. It felt so foreign. “Fuck, Malfoy, you feel amazing. This is better than I thought it could be…” When I didn’t answer, he rocked his hips. 

“Stop. I don’t like it.” I gently pulled off of him and lay on the bed beside him. I buried my face in the pillow, feeling like a tremendous failure. “I don’t want to do this.”

A hand stroked my back. “It’s OK. I don’t mind.” 

“I do.” He pushed me onto my side. “I wanted to do this for you.” 

His only response was to hug me tight. I buried my face in his neck, not wanting him to see the tears filling my eyes. 

_Note to self: I will never bottom._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got away from me. In the original story, it's sort of sweet and vague. This became way more explicit than originally intended. I'm not the best at writing this sort of thing, so I'd definitely love your comments.


	4. 20 August 1998 - Azkaban

No sense in beating around the bush: Father’s killed himself, and I’m on a break from Azkaban to deal with the estate. I shouldn’t be home, but Mother used Potter’s name and influence to get me out of there. I guess I can’t be angry. I’d rather read boring trust documents in the comfort of my own home than in a jail cell. 

Sometimes, there are benefits to being known as Harry Potter’s boyfriend, even if neither one of us wants to use it to our advantage. 

I’m just thankful to be home, lying in Potter’s bed, warm and comfortable, and waiting for him to get out of the shower and join me. Mother’s been staying here, which is odd. I mean, Mother living with Harry Potter! Who would have ever thought something like that could happen? (Then again, the fact that I’m with Potter is also odd…) She said this house belonged to her family and Potter said he inherited it from Sirius Black, who was his Godfather. It’s interesting how family lines begin to blur once you get older, I guess. 

I think I’m happy Father’s dead. I can’t believe I’ve said that… but it’s true. It’s freeing to know he’s not here anymore. To know I don’t have to live with his ridiculous expectations that I’ll never be able to fulfil. The only time I ever made him proud was when I took the Mark, which I would have gladly NOT done. I would have fought with Potter. I would have joined Dumbledore’s Army. I would have joined the Order of the Phoenix. But, I was Lucius Malfoy’s son and there was no deviating from the path my father had put me on. 

His funeral’s tomorrow and I have to return to Azkaban right afterwards. There’s no reason for me to stay home: I’ve signed all the paperwork I’ve needed to. Mother and I have arranged for the lawyers and the Ministry to do whatever they do. Our money is safe. The Manor is safe. Mother will be taken care of. All is well… except…

I don’t want to go back to that dark and dreary cell. I understand why Father killed himself rather than stay there. I want to kill myself, too. The only thing that is really keeping me alive right now, is my misguided hope that Potter will figure out how to save me… That I will come home to him.

I love him so much. I’ve missed him terribly. I haven’t cared that Mother is here; we’ve made love as much as possible. Several times a day, in fact. I can’t keep my hands off of him, because I know once I go back, I’m never coming home. Potter’s had to cast several hundred thousand silencing spells. And healing spells. On him. He seems to like it when I take charge and I’m OK with that. Besides, topping Potter makes me feel even more connected to him than anything. 

It’s stupid. I’m stupid.

Mother knows we’ve been intimate. She’s even made comments a few times about how dishevelled I look. I don’t care if I look a mess. I don’t care about the love bites scattered all over my body. I don’t care about anything but the fact that Potter put them there. 

Even if we were able to be more discrete, she sees us every night. We cast a charm that lights a fire in the fireplace, but keeps it from throwing off heat, and we cuddle in front of it every night. We have a telly. We have a thing called a compooter that we can watch Muggle stories on. Sometimes we use them. Most of the time, we sit in front of the fireplace, not talking. I don’t know if it will ever change. I don’t want it to.

Mother knows. She sees. She smiles and she smirks. More than once, she’s teased me about getting pregnant. She says that it can happen to male wizards if they’re powerful enough. If they want it enough. And if they have non-stop sex. I think she’s messing with me. I’ve never heard of it. You would think it would be a big deal: male wizards getting pregnant. It’d be all over the birth announcements in the Daily Prophet, wouldn’t it? I don’t want to get pregnant. I’d get fat and have stretch marks… and how exactly would men give birth? We don’t have the necessary equipment. She’s definitely teasing me. But even if it were true? I’m _never_ going to stop fucking Potter. **Never.**

It’s a damn good thing Potter bottoms.


	5. 2 May 1999 - The 1st Remembrance Ceremony

Oh, fuck. Where do I even begin?

It’s the first anniversary of the day life as we all know it changed… some for the better, and some for the worse. The list of people Potter couldn’t save is long: Crabbe, Snape, Fred, Dumbledore, Hedwig, Lupin, Tonks, Colin, Mad-Eye Moody, Sirius, Dobby, James, and Lily… I’ve managed to memorise it because he’s been repeating their names, over and over again in his sleep. 

He’s been having terrible night terrors. Mother says it’s highly possible he has something the Muggles call Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I hope not. It sounds very bad. I’m going to have to find a Muggle library and do some research. I would use the computer, but I’m afraid that he’d be able to see what I was looking up. I wouldn’t want him to be mad at me… it sounds like Potter would take being diagnosed with PTSD as a sign of weakness, and the last thing he is is weak. 

He’ll always be the strongest person I know. Even if he doesn’t think so. 

Currently, he’s in the ensuite vomiting. He locked me out of there. It’s not like it’s the first time he’s vomited in front of me. His little drinking habit from Hogwarts makes an appearance from time to time. Not enough for me to wonder if he’s an alcoholic, but enough for me to worry about him. He drinks until he passes out and refuses to take a hangover draught the next morning. I’ve gotten good at making them and sneaking them into his food. (Have I mentioned that he’s allowed me to build a small potions lab in the kitchen? It’s not much, but it keeps me entertained. I’m supposed to be living as a Muggle, but what the Ministry doesn’t know won’t hurt them.) So. Yeah. He’s vomiting. He hasn’t talked to me in three days, either. Not that we talk much to begin with, but still. He grunts answers when I ask him simple questions, and all he wants to do is lay in front of the fireplace and not talk. I can’t argue with him; I don’t want to talk about the War either… but I do want to talk about us. It’s our anniversary today, too. I want to celebrate sitting under that damn tree. 

I want to celebrate _us_.

———

I finally broke down the bathroom door and held Potter, wiping the sweat off his brow, making him drink lots of water. He punched me a few times. Thankfully, he fights like a girl and most of the blows didn’t hurt. Once I got him to calm down, he slumped against my shoulder. “I don’t want to go. They’re going to make me talk about it.” Tears were streaming down his face. He looked so lost and all alone in the world. “I don’t want to talk about it. Don’t make me go.”

“You have to go, Potter. I’m sorry. You know that if I could keep you here with me, I would. I don’t want you to go either.”

“You have to come with me.”

“Potter, I can’t.” Despite being free, despite being Harry Potter’s bloody _boyfriend_ , I was still a Death Eater and there were a lot of people who didn’t like that. The War Remembrance Ceremony was the last place I belonged.

“Wear my invisibility cloak.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve, but he was still sobbing pretty hard. “No one will see you, but I’ll know you’re there. I need you there. Please, Draco, I need you there.”

My first name. Potter used my first name. I couldn’t say no to him even if my life depended on it. 

“Fine. I’ll wear the cloak.” I stood up and pulled him to his feet. “Let’s get you showered and dressed. We still have some time before we need to be there, so we don’t have to rush… baby steps, Potter. We’ll get you through this, OK?”

“OK.” He took two steps and collapsed, the sobs louder and more heart wrenching. “I can’t! I can’t! I can’t! Please! Don’t make me go!” I leaned down to pick him up, and he grabbed my knees, burying his face in between them. I freed myself and sat down next to him. “Draco, please…”

My name. Again. I decided to fight fire with fire. “Harry, we’re going to go to Hogwarts. You’re going to speak a little bit about healing and the future. I’m going to be there on stage with you, holding your hand, even if I have to hide underneath that damn cloak of yours. Then, we’re going to go to the tree, our tree, and remember the day this all started between us.” I took a deep breath and wiped a tear from his eye. “I’ll get you through this, Harry. I promise.”

“My name is Potter, Malfoy.” He smiled and cupped my face in his hand. “I want to go to the tree.”

I nodded. I could do that. “We’re definitely going to go to the tree.”

“I need to shower.” He stood up and pulled me up with him. He wrapped his arms around me and rest his head on my shoulder. 

I held him as tight as I could. “Yes, you do. You stink.” I ruffled his hair and kissed the top of his head. 

“Come with me? I don’t want to be alone.”

“You want me to join you in the shower? Potter, you’re a big boy. I’m pretty sure you can shower alone.”

“I don’t want to be alone. Anywhere. Even in the shower.” The look on his face was breaking my heart. Before I could react, he kissed me. It was ridiculously sweet, and nothing like any other kiss we’ve shared. We needed to do that again… and again… and again.

When he pulled away, he was blushing the slightest bit and playing with the waistband of my pyjamas. “I want to forget what today is… just for a little bit.” He stripped me slowly, kissing each bit of flesh as it was bared. By the time he got to my pyjama bottoms, I was hard as a rock. He sunk to his knees and pushed my bottoms down to the floor. In one smooth movement, my cock was in his mouth. His hands gripped my thighs tightly as his head moved back and forth. I wound my fingers in his hair and pulled. He hummed around me and that was all I needed. I filled his mouth. He licked the sensitive head and I stumbled backwards, getting tangled in my pyjamas and falling to the floor. “I probably should have thought that through a little better.”

“You think?” I laughed as I sat up. He laughed with me as he crawled into my lap. I kissed him with everything I had, tasting myself on his lips. “Merlin, I love you, Potter. I love you so much.” I closed my eyes and whispered, “cast the spell.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Cast. The. Spell. Potter.” He whispered the incantation and I felt the tingle as the cleaning spell ran through me. He whispered another spell, and I could feel the burn of the stretch and the lubrication dripping down the inside of my thighs. I wished I could use magic; it was embarrassing to have to ask him to prepare me. I would have preferred him doing it manually, but I knew it would take too long. I got onto my hands and knees, arse facing him. I still dislike bottoming, but I will do it from time to time. Special occasions, mostly, and this certainly qualified as one. “Come on, now. I won’t break.”

He knelt behind me and pushed his pyjamas and boxers down just to his knees. I could feel his erection bumping against me as he moved closer to me. I took a deep breath and waited for him to slide in. He hadn’t stretched me enough, and there was a sharp burst of pain as he breached the first ring of muscle. I hissed in pain, but instead of pulling out, he pushed in farther. His head made it past the second ring, and I was starting to feel the pleasure instead of the pain. He bent over me and kissed me every where he could. It changed the angle of his thrusts and his cock brushed against my prostate. I mewled in pleasure despite my discomfort and I found myself pushing back as hard as I could. He picked up speed, his fingers digging into my hips, and I knew they would leave marks. I didn’t mind. I never mind him leaving marks during sex. They're tangible reminders that he loves me, that I'm his... I will never complain. 

He came hard, digging his fingers into my hips even deeper. Once he was done, he cast another cleaning spell and fell onto the bathroom floor next to me. I stretched out next to him and brushed his hair out of his face. “Are you feeling better?”

“I still don’t want to go.” He pushed me onto my back and placed his head over my heart. 

“I still don’t want you to go, either.” I kissed the top of his head. “But you have to.”

“I know.” He sighed and rolled onto his back. “It’s part of the privilege of being the bloody Chosen One, right? I’m so lucky.” Sarcasm dripped from his words. I wished there was something I could do for him. I was never going to be able to fix this, no matter how much I tried, no matter how much time we had together.

“You are lucky, Potter, because I chose you to be my boyfriend.” 

“I chose you.”

“Scarhead.”

“Ferret.”

“That’s my boy! Shower. Now. I’ll go find you something to wear.” 

He stood and helped me to my feet. “I still don’t want to shower alone.” 

It’s amazing we got to Hogwarts early…

———

After the ceremony, Potter and I sat under the tree. There was a feast in the Great Hall after the speeches, but we made excuse after excuse to skip it. Once we were a safe distance away from the crowds, we ran to the tree. Once we were seated, I made sure that we were covered by the cloak. He leaned against me and rest his head on my shoulder, just like he had a year ago.

“Why does today have to… be _today_?”

I smiled at his lack of eloquence. “Because it’s today, Potter.”

“You know what I mean,” he huffed. “I don’t want to celebrate,” he waved his hand between us, “this today. I’m too upset over having to think about everything else that happened today. I’m gassed. I don’t have anything left to give you right now, and I really want to celebrate the day it all changed between us.”

“You don’t have to ‘give’ me anything. This is enough, just sitting here with you.”

“I’m too emotionally exhausted to even enjoy sitting here.”

“Well, you could fall asleep with your head on my shoulder again. I promise not to push you away this time.” 

“You know what I mean.”

I smoothed his hair off of his face. “Sleep, Potter. You deserve the rest.”

“Will you make sure we stay hidden?”

“I will. I made a promise to you a year ago that I would protect you. You were asleep at the time, but I promised."

"You did?" His words were already thick with sleep.

"I will always protect you, Potter." I kissed the top of his head. "Always."


	6. 8 August 1999 - My Favourite Colour

We went out for gelato tonight. Potter had never had it before, and it was nice to show him something new. 

He ordered pistachio and it started one of the weirdest conversations we’ve had to date…

“Ginny used to tell me that I looked good in Gryffindor scarlet because it matched my colours, whatever that means. I really hated Gryffindor’s colours, if I’m being completely honest.”

“And you got that out of pistachio gelato?”

“Maybe. I’m just saying that because my favourite colour doesn’t have anything to do with Gryffindor.”

I think I looked at him for an eternity. “What are you going on about?”

“Green.” He took a bite of his gelato and smiled at me. “My favourite colour is green. But not just any green. _Slytherin_ green.”

I choked on the mouthful of gelato I had just taken. “Slytherin green. I don’t believe you.”

“You should.” He put his spoon in his mouth and let it hang there for a moment whilst he took his glasses off and pushed his fringe off of his face, putting those brilliant green eyes on display. He pulled the spoon out of his mouth and smiled. “Slytherin green always reminded me of my eyes, which were my mum’s eyes. Everyone who sees me always has to tell me that I have my mum’s eyes…and then there’s the small matter of this guy I managed to fall in love with. So of course, now I associate the colour with him. So yeah. Slytherin green. That’s my favourite colour.”

“You like Slytherin green because of me.”

“No. I like green because of my mum. The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know.” He smiled and I could literally feel my heart skip a beat. Everything is still so new between us; even after a year, he does things that can set the butterflies loose in my gut. If I didn’t already know I loved him, I probably would have fallen in love with him today. Just like that.

“Do you want to know what my favourite colour is?” I pushed my empty dish away. Mother and I used to come here from time to time when I was younger. It wasn’t the same anymore; the recipe had changed, the dining room had gotten a facelift, the owners had retired. Even I wasn’t the same. I had hoped that bringing Potter here would capture some of my youthful naivety, but it had only served to put me slightly off kilter. This conversation was only making it worse. Potter was behaving oddly; showing me a side of him that he’d kept secret for so long.

“Slytherin green.”

“How the fuck did you know?”

“I didn’t. But I guessed because everything you own is green.”

“Green’s just my family’s colour. I actually like it for a different reason.” I reached out and grabbed his hand. “Ever since the first day we met, I was struck by how green your eyes are. I hate that you hide them behind glasses, but your face is too naked without them.”

“You like green because my eyes are green?”

“Did I not say it in English?”

“You did. I wanted to make sure I heard you correctly.” He got up and came around to the other side of the booth so he could sit next to me. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and smiled as I leaned in against him. 

“I suppose I should be very descriptive. I love the colour of your eyes. My favourite colour is ‘Harry Potter’s eyes’.” How completely random, yet utterly perfect, that both of our favourite colours were green…. Simply because that was the colour of his mum’s eyes. For what it’s worth, had I not been introduced to the most magical pair of green eyes, my favourite colour would have been Gryffindor scarlet, but only because the deep red gave my face some pinkness…

“Why do you do that?”

His voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “Do what?”

“You either call me Potter or Harry Potter. Can’t you just call me Harry?”

“Can’t you just call me Draco?”

“You introduced yourself to me as ‘Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.’ Obviously you like your last name better than your first.”

“Obviously you’re wrong,” I rolled my eyes. “My last name was meant to impress you. ‘Oh! You’re a Malfoy!’ Good genes, pureblood, rich, powerful… you know. Utterly perfect.”

“Utterly daft, maybe.” He smiled at me, those green eyes twinkling with a light that is still rare. I keep reminding myself that the War was only a year ago and that his wounds run deep. He went through a lot, too much really, for someone our age, and he carries that weight alone. He’s very rarely completely happy and at ease. I think that’s why we still don’t talk about the things that matter very much, or very often. I don’t know, and I don’t care… I’d rather be curled up in front of the fireplace, in silence, than have to dredge up my past.

“I already knew who you were, of course. In my home, you were never ‘Harry’, though. You were always ‘Harry Potter’.” I shrugged. “Does it really matter?”

“No. I guess not. I was just curious.” 

“I’m never going to call you Harry.”

“I’m never going to call you Draco.”

I wonder why I’m unable to call Potter by his first name. It doesn’t seem right to continually refer to him by his last name, as if he’s something unimportant. Beneath me. (Well, he can be beneath me, all he wants if it’s got to do with sex. Otherwise, we’re equals.) I can’t even call him by that name in my head. Isn’t that odd? I’ve kissed, stroked, licked and fucked every inch of his body, and he’s done the same to me.

Honestly. Once someone’s had their cock up your arse, or vice versa, on a regular schedule, you really should be on a first name basis. Not us. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to call him anything but Potter. We’ll probably be married, over a hundred years old, chasing each other around the house in our walkers, and calling each other by our surnames. 

I can live with never being called Draco. Truth be told, I like the say he says Malfoy, with just a hint of a sneer. The same way he did for the years we were classmates at Hogwarts. I wonder if he likes the way I say Potter. I have to assume he does. He’d most likely say something if he didn’t, wouldn’t he? I mean, he did say something, but he didn’t say to stop it, or ask me to stop it. Who knows. It’s just another piece of the mystery that is Harry Potter.


	7. 20 September 1999 - Granger's Birthday

Last night was Granger’s 21st birthday party.

We started out at the Leaky despite my misgivings. Potter refused to listen to my list of excuses as to why I didn’t want to go with him: It’s still too soon for a Death Eater to be walking the streets freely. Especially if he’s holding Harry Potter’s hand. It doesn't help that the entire Weasley clan has been slow to accept me and it’s something that only time can fix. If it ever can. Add to that, Granger and Weasley have been inseparable since leaving Hogwarts.

It’s that last fact that’s most troublesome. They’ve finally come to their senses and are dating. Which would be bad enough on it’s own, but it’s worse because she’s living at the Burrow. She didn’t have a place to go after the War because she had obliviated her parents’ memories of her, in order to save their lives. She hadn’t tried to find them after the War. Memory charms are notoriously tricky and she was afraid of what might happen if she tried to find them and reverse the spell…

Like Potter, she was a War Orphan.

Unlike Potter, she made the decision to be one.

They’ve bonded in a way that I don’t understand. One that makes Weasley feel threatened.

I can’t blame him. He’s always come in second to Potter.

Even in Granger’s heart.

I’m not supposed to know that, but it was brought up tonight. Loudly. In the pub.  


It’s the first time I’ve even been thrown out of an establishment… _**and I’m still considered a Death Eater!**_

It started simply enough. Potter toasted her, some stupid comment about how he wouldn’t have survived the past eight years without her. How she’d become his best friend, the person he went to when he needed to be grounded. The person he went to when, and I quote, “Malfoy’s being a right twat” and he needed a break from me.

We all laughed at that. Some more than others, but a light flickered in Weasley’s eyes. It was no secret that Potter and Granger were closer than just friends. Maybe even closer than best friends had any right to be, but he was with me. He loved me and he wasn’t going to do anything with her. I trusted him implicitly. I had no reason not to. He told me once that he thought there might have been something between them at one point, but then he decided that it wasn’t worth ruining his friendship with Weasley, and perhaps his friendship with Granger as well. Especially since she’d made her choice Fourth Year. 

I’d never once felt threatened by her. There was no reason to be. They were friends and you’d have to be blind not to see that hard boundary.

Granger moved close to Potter and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Weasley lost his bloody mind right then.

He tried to punch Potter, but I grabbed his fist. Longbottom got in-between the two friends whilst Luna and Ginny tended to Granger. Weasley turned to me and tried to break free, but I was stronger. I was also running on adrenaline… nobody attacks my boyfriend. _Nobody._ I wrestled him down to the ground and sat on him. Longbottom finally pulled me off of him and I went to Potter. Weasley lunged after him and I had to step in again.

Finally coming to the realisation that he was outnumbered, he turned on his girlfriend. “You love him, you bloody bint! You always have!”

Granger was already in tears, but the accusation made her cry harder. Potter went to her, and I followed. The two of us flanked the crying girl, their other friends falling in behind us. “I love you, Ron,” she yelled through her tears.

“Every girl in the entire world wants Harry! Look at him! He’s attractive! He’s muscular! He’s a nice bloke! He’s kind! He protects every one! He would have won the TriWizard fucking Cup if Voldemort hadn’t gotten in his bloody way! Saint! Fucking! Potter!” It sounded weird to hear my words coming out of Weasley’s mouth. “At least there’s one thing I had that was mine and mine alone,” he sighed. “I got to be a Prefect.”

Potter took a step forward, teeth bared. I knew that face. That was not a good face. “I could have been one,” he growled, “but I was too busy trying to figure out how to kill fucking Voldemort. You were Dumbledore’s second choice. You’re everyone’s second choice. Even ‘Mione’s, but she’s too kind to tell you the truth."

“Fuck. You. Harry.” He stormed out of the pub, leaving all of us staring at Potter.

“Harry.” Longbottom’s normally calm demeanour had changed. He was angry. As were Luna and Ginny. “That… that was uncalled for.” Ginny glared at Harry and I wondered if I'd have to break up a fight between them, too.

Granger looked between Potter and her friends, and moved to Potter’s side. “Take me home with you, please? I can’t go back to the Burrow. Not tonight.”

Potter looked at me, confusion clear on his face. After everything that just happened, she was choosing to come home with us? I shook my head and wrapped my arm around her waist. “Let’s go, Granger.” We walked out of the pub, Granger safe between the two of us. I had to surrender my wand as part of the terms of my punishment, but Granger handed me hers. It was probably a violation of my sentencing to have a wand in my possession at all, but I didn’t really care. An angry Weasley was an unpredictable one, Potter had once said. I kept that thought first and foremost as we moved quickly to the Apparition point.

Once we got home, she collapsed on the couch. I disappeared into the kitchen to get her some water whilst Potter tried to calm her. When I got back into the living room, I noticed that Potter had cast an extension charm on the furniture and he was laying down in between the back of the couch and Granger. She was clinging to him like he was a life preserver and she was adrift in the ocean. My heart twinged a little bit. They looked like they belonged together, and I could see where Weasley might’ve gotten obsessed with the idea that they were in love.

He had his arm wrapped around her, but when he saw me, he held his arm out, inviting me. I set the water down on the coffee table and got onto the couch behind Granger. She shifted slightly and reached out behind her, grabbing my thigh. I wrapped my arm around her as well. She sighed happily. Potter looked over her and smiled. As weird as it felt to offer Granger this level of comfort, this _intimate_ level of comfort, I owed her a bit of a life debt... She did help Potter keep me out of Azkaban and she’d been instrumental in getting his friends, their friends, to begrudgingly tolerate my presence when we went out. I wriggled so that she was pressed tight between us, which allowed me to touch Potter. He accio’d a blanket and covered us all with it. I could tell by the way she was breathing that she was already asleep. Potter’s eyes, too, were closing behind his glasses. I reached out and took them off of his face and tried to run my fingers through his hair. Granger was in the way, so I gave up and spooned her.

Her hair smelt of lilacs and her body was so warm that it wasn’t long before I fell asleep.

\----------

When I woke up, I was on my back, Granger’s head on my chest, and Potter curled up tight against her back. My life was weird. Not only was I (still) dating Potter, now I was sleeping on the couch while his best friend slept in between us. His female best friend. I needed to go to the loo so I tried to get out from under her without waking her up. She clung to me, making it difficult to pull away, but I finally managed it.

When I came out, she was pacing the hallway. “Draco,” she whispered.

“Granger.”

“Thank you for letting me stay last night. You could have said no and made me go home with Neville or Luna.”

“You're Potter’s best friend! Besides, there’s no way I could ever say no to you.”

“Well, whatever your reasoning, I appreciate it.” She hugged me and kissed my cheek. “And you’re a cuddler. Harry never told me that.”

I blushed as I wondered what Potter has and has not told her about our relationship. “Would you like me to make you some tea? Coffee? Potter’s probably going to be sleeping for a while.”

“I’d like some tea, thank you.” We went to the kitchen and she sat down at the table, watching me prepare the tea. I couldn’t tell if she was watching me make it because she didn’t trust me or if she was watching me make it so that she had something to do. “He wasn’t wrong, Draco.”

“Wrong? About what?”

“Ron is my second choice.” She looked down at the table and looked at her hands. I put the kettle on and then took a seat next to her. “I think that if I hadn’t met Ron, Harry and I could have wound up together. I almost kissed him in the tent that night…” I had no idea what she was talking about, but I didn’t care. “The thing is, Harry could have said he loved me all he wanted, but I was always going to know it was a lie. The truth is that he loves you, Draco. He always has and he probably always would, even if we were together. That was enough to keep me away. I want someone to love me the way he loves you. Ron is…Ron’s not a terrible second choice, but he’s not Harry. You’re really lucky to have someone so devoted to you that he’d turn his back on his friends and family to protect you.”

I couldn’t look at her so I got up and pulled some mugs down from the cabinets. Her words stung, even though I knew they weren’t meant to. She was just stating the facts as she saw them. She didn’t understand that I was a very small part of the reason Potter had pulled away from all his friends after the War. She didn’t understand that I was the one who pushed him to reach out to his friends again. I wasn’t going to let her know… it was easier on all of us, sometimes, if I were still the villain. “Weasley’s not terrible. He has a certain charm.”

“His face lights up at dinner time, not when I walk into the room. He doesn’t make sure I’m happy, or comfortable, or anything that Harry does for you.”

“His face doesn’t light up when I walk up into the room,” I told my feet. It was true, no matter how much I didn’t want to admit it. Whenever we were out and got separated, Potter’s face lit up when I came back into view. He loved me a ridiculous amount and it was obvious to everyone that came within a few feet of us. “You have nothing to be jealous of.” That was a bold-faced lie. I would have been jealous of our relationship, had I been looking at it from the outside.

The kettle started to whistle and I turned quick to take it off the hob before it could wake Potter up. We had some scones that were about to go off, and I plated those as the tea was steeping. “You and Weasley will figure it out. He’d be daft to break up with you just because his pride got in the way. So what if Harry was your first choice? He’s not interested in you.”

From the kitchen, we could hear Potter begin to stir. “Before he wakes up, I want you to know that I approve of your relationship. I always have. I think you’re very good together. Plus, there aren’t many guys who would let their boyfriend’s female best friend into bed with them.”

“We’re not ordinary guys, and you’re no ordinary female best friend.” I reached out and took her dainty hand in mine. I brought it to my kips and kissed it. “Don’t tell any of them I’ve said this, because I have a reputation to keep and all, but I’ve grown quite fond of you. Hermione.” It was weird to call her by her first name, but judging by the smile that lit up her face, I’d said the right thing.

“Good, because I feel the same. I would have tried to like you any way, for Harry’s sake, but you’re actually quite nice when you let your guard down.”

Potter walked into the kitchen. “Coffee,” he grunted as he fell into a chair. I got up and made him some using the left over hot water from the tea. I set it down in front of him and he immediately wrapped his hands around it and brought it to his nose. It was like that first sniff woke him up enough so that he could function and actually drink it. “Thank you, Malfoy.”

Granger looked down at her watch. “I took today off because I thought I’d be hungover. Can I stay here a little longer?”

Potter looked at me, measuring my reaction. I knew he wanted her to stay, and would let her stay as long as she wanted to. He didn’t have to ask me, but it was nice that he did. “Of course. You don’t ever need to ask. Our home is always open to you.” I smiled.

Potter nodded. “You should really try to talk to Ron, though, now that he’s calmed down a little bit.”

“You crossed a line last night, you know.” She said softly. “You rubbed it in his face that he’s my second choice. I’m not sure I can apologise enough for that.”

“I can try to talk to him, too.” I could tell that he didn’t really want to. “I’m gay and I’m in love with Malfoy. I was never interested in you in that way. You’re like a sister to me."

“I know. He doesn’t understand that. It doesn’t help that you’ve walked away from his sister to pursue a relationship with Draco. He’s angry at you. He’s jealous of you. He’s… it’s complicated.”

“Do you think I don’t know that? He was so angry at me when the Cup spit out my name. He got angry at me when… Never mind. I can’t change the past.”

The Floo sounded, and I looked at Potter, alarmed. Who the hell had gotten past our security wards? “‘Mione? Hermione? Are you here?” Weasley. Of course it was. Wards or not, he was one of the people that always had access to us.

“We’re in the kitchen.” She clutched her mug, knuckles white.

He stormed in to the kitchen and looked at all of us. Before any of us could say anything, he started. “I know that I’m always going to come in second. I’m the next to last Weasley. I’m Harry Potter’s best mate. I’m a nobody. My only claim to fame is that I have my very own Chocolate Frog card… I’ve never done anything worthy of being singled out. I get it. I do. But I don’t appreciate being reminded of that fact.”

Potter and Granger had the good sense to look embarrassed. Since they weren’t going to say anything, I chose to. “Weasley, you’re not second in her heart.” I looked at the two of them. “Merlin knows why, but she loves you with everything she’s got. Granger’s not stupid. She wouldn’t have fallen in love with just anyone. And she’s not in love with Potter. They’re close friends, but if I thought she was interested in him, I wouldn’t let her anywhere near him. I don’t like to share.”

His face softened the slightest bit. “I know you wouldn’t, Malfoy. It doesn’t change the fact that I know I’m not good enough for her.”

“You’re more than good enough for me, Ron. You are.” She stood up and put her mug in the sink before walking over to him. Potter walked over to the sink to start the dishes and I headed out to the living room to start this journal entry.

They’re still in the kitchen, talking softly and Potter’s out here rubbing my feet. We have the telly on to make sure they know we’re not listening, but I’d rather be stretched out in front of the fireplace, decompressing. It’s been an intense several hours and I could use a nap. Judging by the way Potter keeps yawning, he could use a nap, too.

Granger and Weasley can let themselves out, or they can use our spare room to… make up. It wouldn’t be the first time that room’s been defiled by them.


	8. 14 February 2000  - Valentine's Day

Today is Valentine’s Day and it’s supposed to be a day of love, closeness, everlasting devotion… instead, we fought to the point where I’m going to be sleeping on the couch. As if I could sleep right now.

He won’t talk to me. We still don’t have deep conversations about our past, and sometimes our present, but it’s OK when he won’t tell me what’s going on in his head. A majority of the time, I don’t tell him what’s going on in mine. What am I supposed to tell him? What does he want from me?

I’m a fucking _Malfoy_. Love didn’t exist in our home. Only pride. Money. Power. Mother loved me - of that I have no doubt - but it didn’t mean she showed it often. Father, on the other hand… I was a constant disappointment because I was ‘soft’. It took me a long time before I could lock away my emotions. It took me a long time before I could keep people from getting too close. But. Once I managed to control my emotions, it was game over as the Muggles say.

It’s this control over my emotions that both helps and hinders my relationship with Potter. 

I tell him I love him. I do. Maybe not as much as he wants to hear… I don’t know. I struggle with it. We cuddle, we make love, and I try to show him I love him each and every day. Which is why I’m so surprised by what just happened. 

I arranged for a reservation at this nice restaurant. I dressed nicely. I helped him dress nicely. I even went for the cliché, and bought roses. I suppose that, had it been anyone other than the two of us, it would have been perfect. Instead, it started the argument. It was like the roses pushed him over the edge.

“Do you think this is how you show someone you love them? Fancy dinners? Flowers? It’s like you looked at a fucking textbook, Malfoy. We’re different than that. You’re better than that.” He threw a small box at me. “This is how you do Valentine’s Day, you fucking wanker. 

I opened the box. It held tickets to the Arsenal-Southampton football game. I didn’t like football nearly as much as I liked Quidditch, but it was growing on me. Potter loved it and he’d managed to get me hooked. We liked different teams, and Arsenal had become my favourite. The fact that he would buy tickets - and good ones - to a football game for me blew my mind. It was creative and thoughtful. 

Then again, he’s always been really good at getting me gifts. I’m not nearly as good, even though I know his likes and dislikes. I’m just not creative. I can’t think outside of the box. I don’t know how.

I guess it’s easy to blame my parents. Thoughtful gifts were never given and Christmas was really no exception. Yes, I was spoilt rotten… but there’s a difference between being spoilt and being loved. I sighed and looked at the box. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m tired of hearing that you’re sorry. Malfoy.” His voice was soft. “I’m going to go upstairs and read. I suggest you stay down here and think about how to make it up to me.” 

I nodded. It was the only response I could come up with. 

He turned on his heel and stormed upstairs and I headed to the couch. The couch that I had spent so many nights on in the early days… the couch I would probably spend the rest of my days on, if I were still allowed to live here. If we were to stay together. 

I’m **never** going to get good at this. Not with Potter.

I might have been able to fake my way though all this with Pansy, because she would have been thrilled with the fancy dinner. She liked the displays of my wealth. She liked everything I did as long as it was overly romantic. Potter wouldn’t fall for that crap… 

I should know better. I _do_ know better. I just can’t get from point A to point B. 

Mother would get so angry with me for giving up, but I can’t keep hurting Potter with my stupidity. I’ve put him through so much already. He deserves to be happy. He deserves someone who can love him the way he needs it. I’m not that person. I was never that person. 

I’m going to pack a bag and go back to the Manor. I may never come back to this flat… I may never come home. Potter is better off without me.

—————

I went upstairs to pack and Potter wouldn’t even look at me when I entered the room. Instead, he asked his book where I was going. “Home. I’m going home.”

“This is your home.” He spoke softly, still not looking at me. I knew all of his moods and could gauge his reactions based on the ways his eyes flashed. I couldn't read him and that frightened me. “You mean you’re going to the Manor.”

“Yes. I’m going to the Manor. You don’t want me to stay here. I’m a terrible boyfriend, and you’ll be better off without me. You should find someone else to date. Someone who will love you better than I can.”

“I don’t want to find some one else to date, you moron.” He put the book down finally and looked at me. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. “I want you.”

“You know I’m not going to change.” I sank onto the corner of the bed. “You know that this is something I struggle with. I don’t know to change. How to fix this. I love you, Potter, but I’m always going to be absolute shite at showing it.”

“I know.” He patted the side of the bed next to him. “Come here.” He put the book down as I crawled onto the bed next to him. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and kissed the top of my head. “Molly once told me that you should never go to bed angry… and I think that’s great advice.”

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but he cut me off. “Shut up. I don’t want to hear you apologise.” 

“Well, then, what do you want from me?”

“I want you to put some effort into this.”

“I AM!” I pushed him away and got off the bed. I picked my bag up again and headed to the wardrobe that held all my clothes. “You don’t know how hard this is for me!”

“Put your pyjamas on and get your ass in bed.” I did as I was told, afraid to disobey him. I didn’t want to lose him. I couldn’t lose him, but if I kept failing him… I lay on my back and let him rest his head on my chest. “Potter, I’ll try harder. I promise.” 

He sighed again. “You say that every time. Maybe one day, I’ll believe you.”

“I want you to believe me.” It was my turn to sigh. “I want to believe myself.”

“I love you, Malfoy. I’m always going to love you, but sweet Merlin’s tits, you make it hard.”

“I know I do.” I kissed the top of his head. “You wouldn’t love me if I made it easy, though, and you know it.”

“Go to sleep, Malfoy.”

I couldn’t, which is why I’m up and writing...

I’m going to figure out how to show him I love him. It means making myself vulnerable, and that’s terrifying, but I’m going to try. 

He’s worth it.


	9. 28 August 2000 - Summer Bank Holiday

Hanging out with Granger and Weasley isn’t as bad as I thought it would be… even though Granger tends to arrange the outings and they’re always in crowded places in case we need to separate. Tempers do still flare from time to time… I’m not sure why Weasley still hates me so much. His mother killed my aunt! For Potter’s sake, we work hard at not letting him know how much we still don’t like each other. I think we’ve managed to fool him. I know we’ve still not managed to fool Granger. 

At any rate, Granger dragged us out to the Notting Hill Carnival.

I don’t really like large crowds any more, but I can’t say no to Potter, and he can’t say no to Granger… Weasley pretends to be OK with that, too. It’s still difficult for him, even after a year after the public announcement that he was always going to be second best to Potter. I don’t know how to make him understand that Potter is one in a million, and to come in second is a pretty huge honour. I mean, I still have a lot of days where I feel like something he might have stepped in. I’m not worthy of a man like Potter. I’ll never be worthy. How do I explain that to Weasley?

“Malfoy? You there?” Potter waved his hand in front of my face, bringing me back to the present. 

“What?” I put the menu down and looked at him. Lunch at some trendy little Notting Hill pub wasn’t necessarily my idea of fun, but Weasley was putting on airs and decided he wanted to check out this place’s gin. They have their own distillery, I guess. He’s ‘heard’ about it, which means that he saw the sign and decided to make us stop for lunch. The only good thing is that there wasn’t a wait. I don’t care how good the gin is, a Malfoy doesn’t wait for food.

“You’ve been lost in your head all day. You going to join the rest of us or what?” He rest his hand on my thigh and squeezed. “What are you thinking about?”

“You’d never believe me.” I shook my head, letting my fringe fall into my eyes. Potter couldn’t decide if he liked my hair longer or if I should cut it, so I let it grow. “I need to use the loo.”

“Do you want company,” he whispered in my ear.

I shook my head. “Yes.”

“You two are not going to the loo together! Can’t you keep your hands off of each other for one bloody meal?” Granger placed her menu on the table with a little too much force. “I swear, you two are like teenagers, instead of grown men!”

“‘Mione, if you think we’re grown men, you’re sadly mistaken.” Potter was so serious, that I had to bite back a laugh. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to shag my boyfriend every chance I get… even if it’s in a loo.” 

Weasley smiled and grabbed Granger’s hand. “Go easy on them. It’s not like we’ve never shagged in a loo before.” 

I don’t know which one of us was more shocked at Weasley’s confession. Granger had turned an unhealthy shade of pink, Potter was gasping for air like a fish out of water and me… I was trying not to picture him bent over a sink whilst she used a dildo on him.

Let’s be honest. Weasley is totally the bottom in that relationship, in more ways than one.

“Well, that just killed the mood. Thanks, mate.” Potter glared at the ginger. 

“I still need to use the loo.” I pushed him so I could get out of the booth. “You can come with me, or you can stay, but I have to tinkle.”

Potter got up and let me out of the booth. “I’m going to, um, tinkle, too.” He was blushing furiously and I wondered for a brief moment what we must look like to Granger and Weasley. Life long enemies, turned lovers, unable to keep their hands off each other. He put his hand on the small of my back and pushed me forward.

As we began to leave the table, I heard Weasley groan. “They really are happy together, aren’t they?” I had to hide the smile and keep walking.

“Outside?” Potter pulled me over to the door to their smoking area.

“I really do have to piss, Potter. Pee. Drain the lizard. Water the flowers. I will go outside with you in a minute.” I pushed past him, walked into the loo, and headed to a urinal. He followed me and took a spot at the urinal to my right.

“What were you thinking about out there? You’ve been in your own world since we got here.” 

“I’m OK.” I washed my hands and waited for him to catch up. “I'm not feeling particularly social today."

"You could have said something. I would have stayed home with you." He washed his hands and we headed out to the smoking area. It was nicely decorated, and we took a seat at a table in the back.

"I know you would have, and I didn't want you to."

"I wish you had said something... Ron's acting pretty strange today. He doesn't even like gin!"

I noticed Weasley had ordered a pint, but I didn't want to say anything. "You want to know what I was thinking about?" He nodded. "Weasley keeps getting his knickers in a twist over coming in second to you... But you set the bloody bar so high, coming in second is far better than being a Death Eater. I don't deserve you, Potter. I never have, and I never will. I'm pathetic. I'm like a dog turd you stepped in. I tarnish your reputation."

Potter grabbed my wrist so hard, I knew it was definitely going to bruise. "Shut. Up. Malfoy. I chose you. I'm the one that invited you to hide with me, I'm the one that extended the truce, I'm the one that's been in love with you since Hogwarts, and I'm the one who fought to keep you out of Azkaban."

"You've made some bad choices... Wait. You've been in love with me since Hogwarts?" I wracked my brain to think if he'd already admitted to it going that far back. I was pretty sure that we'd never really talked about that, other than Mother noting how obsessed we were with each other.

"Of course I have, you berk. Do you know how happy I was when you came with me to the tree? When you held my hand? When you kissed me that first time? I wasn't brave enough to do any of that. I practically had a panic attack when I asked you to stay for dinner, when I thought you were going to disappear from my life..."

"You could face down the most evil wizard in history, but you couldn't make a move on me? Really, Potter? Am I that scary?" I couldn't hold back the smirk. Potter. Afraid of me. It was brilliant. 

"Actually, yes. You are." He smiled that crooked grin and I couldn't help but smile back. "You're a Malfoy, a pureblood, rich, powerful... I was just some kid that slept in a cupboard and had no idea who my parents were, who I was... I should have been a nobody. Tom Riddle made me a somebody, but not the kind of person I thought you'd fall for. Plus, your father was pretty damn scary.“

I couldn't fight the wave of affection I felt for him right then and I reached out for his hand. “Love you, Potter.”

“I know.” He winked at me. “I love you, too.” He stood up and stretched. “We should probably go back and order our lunches. The sooner we eat, the sooner we can go our separate ways.” He took two steps and stopped. “He’s never going to get over the fact that we could have possibly dated, is he? I blame the locket.”

“The locket? What are you going on about now?”

“Salazar Slytherin’s locket. Riddle made it a horcrux. When Ron wore it, it told him horrible things. That he was always going to be second best, that Hermione loved me. He later told me that he saw us, apparently naked, cruelly mocking him and eventually kissing, playing on his fears that we were in a relationship and that he would, in Hermione's eyes, never be as worthy as I was.”

“So basically everything he still believes.” 

“Yeah.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Once an idea takes root like that…”

“It doesn’t go away easily.” 

After that, we ate some pretty decent food, and then we made some stupid excuses, that neither Granger or Weasley believed. Potter was quiet on the Tube, he was quiet during our walk from the stop to the flat, and he was quiet as he slipped into his pyjamas. When he got like this, it was hard to tell exactly what was bothering him. I did what I do best. What we do best. I turned on our fireplace and grabbed a blanket. 

He made himself comfortable, his head was on my chest and his face was buried in the crook of my neck. “Hermione always knew that I had a crush on you, even when I didn’t know it myself. That’s why she never pursued it. I don’t know why Ron can’t see that I’m gay.”

“He doesn’t want to. It’s easier to believe… well, whatever he wants to believe, instead of accepting the fact that you’re not straight.”

“He’s still upset it didn’t work out between Ginny and I, too. I’m such a shit friend.”

“The worst.” 

Potter laughed at that. He brushed his lips against my cheek. “Thank you.” 

“Any time, Potter. Any time.”


	10. 21 December 2000 - Hogwarts Rededication

It’s all Potter’s fault. 

_**It is.** _

We went to Hogwarts tonight. McGonagall held a Yule Ball to celebrate the restoration of the castle. All the students were there, the parents, and the dignitaries. And Potter. Especially Potter. He’s the Man of the Hour, of course. He’ll always be the one that represents rebirth from the ashes of the War. He is a phoenix.

He didn’t want to go. He begged me to give McGonagall a good excuse, telling me that my ‘stupid stuffy upbringing, and general Slytherin-ness should be enough to craft a halfway decent excuse.’ I should be more ashamed than I am, but it felt so gratifying to punch him in the nose. “There’s your excuse, you stupid berk. The bloody Death Eater you’re stupid enough to be co-habitating with just broke your nose. Again”.

The sound he made was almost inhuman and then he tackled me. We wrestled and broke several things in the struggle to best the other (the coffee table, two lamps, my nose, and a vase), and by the time we were done, it was time to leave. Of course, we couldn’t leave in the shape we were in, so we were late. 

Potter didn’t want anyone to notice him, but our late entrance meant that every eye in the house was on him. _On us_. People gave him a standing ovation as we walked through the Great Hall. He had my hand in a death grip, and I was positive he was going to end up breaking my fingers. “I hate you, Malfoy,” he had growled between his teeth. I could only smile at him and keep walking. He can say he hates me as much as he wants; I know better.

They made the dignitaries give their speeches before dinner. Potter was the last to go on and he sat next to me the entire time, shaking and bitching at me because I wouldn’t let him get pissed before we left our flat. Granger and Weasley tried to talk to him, and calm him down, but he wasn’t having any of it. Finally, it was his turn. He stumbled through the cards Granger and I had prepared for him and it was over before he could make too much of a mess of it. He returned to the table and slumped down in his seat. I placed my hand on his thigh and whispered a bunch of sweet nothings in his ear: I was proud of him, he did well, it was over, I was sorry I broke his nose and made him late. I may have only meant a few of those things. Not that it mattered; he smiled at me and placed his hand over mine.

Once dinner was over, the ball began. I’d already heard from him - repeatedly - how much he hated dancing, but he had to do the first dance with the rest of them. I stood up and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet. When we started, his steps were clumsy and he tripped over his feet, even though I was leading. He should have been the one to lead, but after trying to teach him for the last three weeks (well documented here), we had given up. I like to think I did a good job of hiding the fact that I was leading. I know we looked good out there.

We danced and it was amazing. Despite his nervousness that everyone was watching us, he managed to get through the simple waltz that started the festivities. The next dance had every one on the floor and we could be less formal. "Look at you, Potter. You look amazing in those dress robes. Everyone's staring at us, not just because you're the Boy Who Lived, but because you are the most handsome man here tonight."

"Shut up, Malfoy." He smiled; the words weren't meant to hurt, and they didn't. "They're staring because I’m Harry Potter.”

“They’re staring at you because you’re the most amazing, sexiest, man here. Second best dressed, perhaps, but it’s a close second.” I winked at him and moved in closer. “There are women out there, who are absolutely drooling over you. Women who would give anything for a chance to stand here, touching you, dancing with you.” I pulled him even closer and ground my hips against him. “I’ll bet they’re sitting there just wondering what it would be like to kiss you, to have you take them. But they’ll never know that, will they?” 

He gasped as my erection rubbed against him. “Why are you so good at that?”

“What? Getting hard? That’s all you. Those green eyes, that ridiculous hair, those pouty lips. Merlin, Potter, I want to take you out of here and fuck you senseless.”

“Malfoy. Stop.” When he looked at me, his eyes were blown wide open, more black than green. "I need to go to the loo." He stepped back and adjusted his robes. I followed suit, thankful that the billowy fabric hid the proof of our arousal. 

"I have a better idea." I pulled the corner of his invisibility cloak out of my robe and winked at him. "Let's go for a walk."

...And that's how Filtch caught me balls deep in Potter's arse, as I fucked him against the tree our relationship started under. 

Like I said, it's all Potter's fault.


	11. 6 June 2001 - My Birthday

For my birthday, Potter let Teddy plan the celebration.

We started at the zoo, just the three of us. Potter pushed the pram, Teddy napped, and I wondered why it took me 21 years to finally go to a zoo. When we got to the reptile house, Potter froze.

“What’s wrong, Potter?” He stood there, shaking his head. “Potter?”

“I talked to a snake in there. A boa constrictor from Brazil. I accidentally set him free, too.”

“You talked to a snake?” I’d forgotten all about Potter being a Parselmouth. I hadn’t seen him speak Parseltongue in several years. Since that duel first? second? year… I can’t remember. You’d think I would. “Don’t you want to see if they recaptured the snake?”

He shook his head again. “What if they did? Do you think he’d be mad at me?”

“It’s a snake, Potter. I can’t imagine they have long term memories. Come on. Teddy wants to see the snakes.”

“Teddy’s sleeping, Malfoy. He doesn’t want to see the snakes.”

“Well, I do and it’s my birthday. Let’s go.” I walked into the exhibit and looked around until I found the boa constrictor. Potter came up behind me. “Is it the same one?”

I turned back to look at him. He was pale and shaking. The snake had noticed it had company and came up to the glass. It was bobbing and weaving, its tongue darting out and hiding. I could hear a soft hissing from my side, and I looked at Potter to confirm what I already knew. He and the snake were talking. “It’s the same snake,” he whispered.

“It is?”

He nodded. “It’s thanking me for setting it free. It sad that it got captured again, but it got to feel the sun warm its skin and it got to experience freedom if only for a little bit.” He said a few more things to the snake and then he nodded solemnly. “The snake says our little boy is cute and he wants to know if he’ll be seeing us again.” 

“Sure. Tell him we’ll take Teddy here at least once a year.” 

After Potter hissed a little bit more, the snake looked like it winked at him before slithering off to hide in the back of his glass enclosure. It couldn’t have winked. Snakes don’t have eyelids. “That was surreal. I thought that part would leave when he did.” He was purposely vague, but I knew exactly what he was talking about. My Dark Mark was fading, but his scar was still there, same as it ever was. It was odd to say the least. “I never thought he’d recognise me. He must see hundreds of thousands of people every year. Why would I stand out?”

“Because you look exactly like you did when you were eleven.”

“I guess so.” He sighed and started to push Teddy’s pram towards the exit. “We should probably go. Everyone's going to be meeting us at the Manor. I don’t want to be late.” 

He looked so upset that I could barely stand it. Every reminder of the War weighed on him, no matter how insignificant it seemed. I shouldn't have dragged him to see the snake, but he had made me so damn curious that I didn't even think about how he would react. I was the world's worst boyfriend. Hands down. “It’s OK, you know. That you’re a Parselmouth. It’s kind of sexy.” I smirked at him, hoping to lighten the mood.

Potter chuckled. “You think everything about me is sexy.”

“Everything about you _is_ sexy. When are you going to realise that?”

“Never.” The smile fell and he was quiet as we exited the area. Once we were free and clear, he said, “I can’t believe the snake wasn’t angry at me.” He reached out and grabbed my hand. "I'd be angry at me. To have freedom and then have it ripped away from you? It's the worst kind of punishment. Trust me."

I didn't want to know what he was referring to, but it reminded me of growing up with Father. When he was away on business, Mother and I were free. When he returned... I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. "I understand," I said as I squeezed his fingers. 

"I know. We're not so different, you and I." He sighed again, running his fingers through his hair before he looked at me. "We're really not." 

"No, we're really not."


	12. 5 November 2001 - Guy Fawkes Day

I learnt something new today… well, I learnt several new things today.

1) Wizards don’t learn anything that is even remotely useful in the Muggle world.

2) I really enjoy certain things about the Muggle world. 

3) Potter’s friends aren’t terrible people.

We started out at the Leaky, but people were talking about me, whispering, pointing, and it was making Potter angry. He always got upset when I was unwelcome at places, but never more than when we were at the Leaky Cauldron. We spent a lot of time there because Longbottom and his wife owned it, and Potter was still close to his Hogwarts friends. That didn’t mean he was OK with people attacking me, though. His stupid Gryffindor-ness meant he would protect me no matter what. He’d already proven it once, when he pulled me out of Azkaban. 

Granger had noticed Potter becoming more agitated, and pulled us aside. “It’s Bonfire Night. We should go find some place to watch the fireworks from. Somewhere full of Muggles.”

“Bonfire night?” I looked from Granger to Potter and back. “What are you talking about?”

“Remember, remember, the 5th of November. Right! We should go!”

“Potter! What the fuck are you talking about?”

“It’s a Muggle holiday, Draco.” Ever since my trial, Granger has been super sweet to me. In fact, she’s the only one of Potter’s friends to fully embrace our relationship. So, when she spoke, it wasn’t with the know-it-all tone in her voice that she normally used. “On November 5th, 1605, there was a plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament. A gentleman by the name of Guy Fawkes was caught before he could light the fuse on the gunpowder. Muggles celebrate the failure of this plot by setting off fireworks and burning effigies of him.”

“So, Muggles celebrate someone’s failure to blow up Parliament by blowing up fireworks?” Muggle history was weird. I think it’s a good thing I didn’t have to fill my head with useless facts about failed plots to blow up buildings. It left room to memorise all the wonderful things about Potter… but it would still have been nice to know some Muggle history so that Wizards could blend into Muggle society better. Or maybe they taught that in Muggle Studies. I don’t know. I never took it. I’d never been interested in Muggles until Potter turned me into one. 

“She never said it made sense, Malfoy.” He smiled at me. “Want to go find a place?” His hand slid into mine. “You know what? You don’t have a choice. We’re going. C’mon, Hermione, grab Ron and the others.”

Before I knew it, Potter was putting my coat on me and wrapping my scarf around my neck. There was a huge smile on his face and he and Granger were talking excitedly about her experiences when she was growing up. I already know that he didn’t get to experience much as a child, but that was OK. I'm going to make sure he gets to see and do everything he ever wanted to. Money’s not an issue with us, and even if it was, I’d find away around it. He deserves the finest things in life.

After leaving Diagon Alley, we crossed London via Tube and bus. Got lost in crowds of American tourists. Sang some Irish drinking songs Finnegan knew. There was something about being with a bunch of Muggle-borns and half-bloods that was oddly freeing. Weasley and I were the only two Purebloods and the Muggle life was more familiar to him than it was to me. He blended in with the others so well, that if I didn’t know his history, I would have thought he was one of them, too. They took this amazing world of public transportation and random holidays for granted, much the same way I suppose I had taken flying on brooms and being able to perform magic for granted. 

The six of us finally found a spot up high on a hill that wasn’t very crowded. Granger pulled a blanket out of her pocket and spread it on the ground. Weasley flopped on it, pulling her down with him whilst Thomas and Finnegan sat far off to the side. I sat down carefully in the middle and Potter sat behind me, legs spread so I could rest against his chest. In three years, we’ve managed to create our own odd little family, glued together by Granger and Potter’s friendship. All of the Weasleys, Longbottom and his wife, Finnegan, Thomas, Potter, Granger and I… I never would have expected to have grown close to a bunch of Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff, but there you go. Life is strange. Mine more so than others, it would seem.

Potter’s arms tightened around my waist and he rested his chin on my shoulder. His warm breath tickled my neck where the skin emerged from the scarf. “I love you, Malfoy,” he whispered into my ear. “Thank you for being here tonight.”

I turned to him, confused. I was going to ask him why he was thanking me; we went everywhere together. It dawned on me that this might be a special night, getting to share such a Muggle-specific thing. Whatever the reason, it was nothing for me to be there with him. There was nowhere else I’d rather be than by his side.

I sat there for a long time, ignoring Weasley and Granger, Thomas and Finnegan, solely focussed on the heat from Potter’s front warming my back. I watched everyone bustling around us, taking pleasure in the fact that nobody knew we were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. I took even more pleasure in the fact that the people we were with were getting used to the idea that we were Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.

I’ve known for a long time that I love Potter. I do, even though he’ll accuse me from time to time of not feeling as strongly about him as he does about me. It’s moments like earlier tonight, when we were just sitting there, silent, me safe and secure in his arms, that mean everything to me. What am I supposed to tell him? “Potter, I love you so much it scares me. Potter, my favourite moments with you aren’t the ones where we’re fucking like rabbits. They’re the moments - still - when we sit in front of the fire and forget the world around us.”

I suppose, in the end, it doesn’t really matter how I feel about him if I can’t make it clear to him that I feel that way. That wasn’t English… fuck. Maybe I should just run up to the rooftops and exclaim that I love Harry James Potter. I love every inch of him, from his crazy hair to his stinky feet. Would that be enough to prove it? 

At any rate, after Potter told me he loved me, I didn’t respond. His whole body stiffened and pulled away. I realised my mistake and turned to him. He stood up and made an excuse that he needed to find a port-a-loo. I had seen some not too far from where we were, but when I stood up to join him, he pushed me away. Undeterred, I let him leave and then took off after him. I finally caught him pacing the sidewalk on the edge of the park we had settled in. “Pot - “

“Fuck you, Malfoy.” Tears ran down his cheeks. I had made him cry? Fuck. I had made him cry. Why did I always manage to hurt him? No wonder he constantly accused me of not loving him. I am an arse. I don’t deserve him. I’ve never deserved him. I don’t think I’ll ever deserve him.

“Potter. I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it back. I was thinking about… well, I was thinking about how much I love you.”

“Don’t lie to me, Malfoy.” 

“I’m not. I was distracted. Believe me, I know how stupid this sounds, but I was thinking about how safe I feel in your arms. How much I love it when it’s just you and me and the rest of the world disappears. How much I love it that your friends are starting to accept me. I love everything about my life right now, but I love you most of all.” I looked at the ground and kicked at a stone. “I know. I’m terrible at saying it.”

He took two steps toward me and wrapped his arms around my waist. I tightened my arms around him and kissed his forehead. Around us, the sky lit up and people cheered, but all that mattered was the man holding me tightly against him as my lips pressed against his.

I think all the time about the amazing things he’s done for me and I think about the not-so-amazing things I’ve done for him… Sometimes, I think the best way for me to overcome the years of being taught that love is a weakness is to just tattoo “I love Harry Potter” onto my forehead. 


	13. 1 April 2002 - Teddy's Birthday

I. Am. **_Exhausted_**.

Birthday parties for four year olds are a lot of work, but birthday parties for a four year old Metamorphmagus are terrible. Especially when said child has Muggle friends who he wants to show off for. He had changed his hair to be a pale blond like mine and Potter had a hell of a time trying to explain to the Muggle parents why we’d decided to dye a little boy’s hair. 

Teddy’s been clinging to me lately. Normally, he’s all over Potter. I’m not going to lie, it does make me a little jealous that he prefers Potter over me. But now that I'm getting a taste of it, it’s kind of nice - if not a little annoying - that he’s chosen me the past few weeks. He insists we call him ‘Draco’ and he’s been begging for nice suits like mine. It’s tiring having him follow me around, looking like me, dressing like me, but it’s also adorable. 

It makes me wonder about my future with Potter. 

We don’t talk about the future much. It’s too abstract a concept for a man who spent seven years living day by day, never knowing if the next day was going to be his last. I can’t say I blame him. I’m a little afraid of my future, too. What if the Ministry decides that I do need to pay for my War crimes? It’s only been four years… is there a statute of limitations on War crimes? Potter can’t keep me safe forever. Can he?

I used to think about being a father all the time when I was with Pansy. It was expected of me to father the next Malfoy heir. I used to wish it would happen sooner rather than later, so I could get it over with and get on with my life. Now that I’m in a relationship with another man, and can’t father the next heir, I don’t know what is going to happen. 

I guess, technically, I could father the next heir… we could look into a surrogate. Or I could just name Teddy the next Malfoy heir. If Father were alive, he’d have kittens at the thought of a half-blood Malfoy heir. I giggled at the thought. 

“What’s so funny?” I jumped. I hadn’t heard Potter come into the room. 

“Is Teddy finally asleep?”

“Yes.” He flopped onto the couch next to me. “I don’t know if you’ll be happy to know that he’s decided he wants to be a Weasley now. He went a little overboard on the ginger hair. He also went a little overboard on the freckles. He looks like a giant carrot… all he’s missing is the green hair.” He lay down with his head in my lap. “He wanted to apologise to Uncle Dwaco for not wanting to be like him, but he was tired of the soots.”

I ran my fingers through his hair. “Do I really wear suits that often?”

“Malfoy, you live in suits.” He took his glasses off and handed them to me. “You look damn good in them, but you still wear them more than jeans and hoodies.”

“Not everybody wants to look like they’re slumming.” I put his glasses on the table, and returned my hands to his hair. “Besides, I own a lot of suits, and you’re right. I look damn good in them.” I tried to hide the disappointment in my voice. I would have rather heard Teddy apologise for turning into a Weasley, but I would take it secondhand. He didn’t know what had transpired between myself and the Weasleys in the past. All he knew was that we spent a lot of time together. And he was four. It was nothing personal. 

So why did it feel like it?

“Malfoy? You OK?” He sat up and looked at me, concern flooding those green eyes. I hated those eyes as much as I loved them. “You don’t look OK. What’s going on? Is it Teddy?”

“There’s a lot of things bothering me right now.” 

“Your feelings are hurt because Teddy’s moved on.” He brushed my hair out of my face and cupped my chin in his hand. “It’s not like he doesn’t love you. He doesn’t understand what it means when he chooses to look like you.”

I smiled. Potter did understand. “I know it doesn’t mean anything, but it still hurts.” He lay back down on my lap. “Do you… do you think about kids?”

“Sometimes. Do you?”

“Yes. I’m supposed to father the Malfoy heir. It’s something I used to take seriously, and then this happened between us.” I sighed. “I don’t know if I want kids now, but it’s something I think about from time to time.”

“I used to think about kids when I was younger, before the realities of being Harry Potter hit. Now, I don’t know. I know the world’s a safer place, but I’m not sure it’s fair to have a child… I mean, the shit I put up with because I’m the Boy That Lived… I can only imagine what would happen to them. No. I can’t do that. Not to an innocent child.”

“Oh.” I closed my eyes. Hearing Potter say no cut me deeper than I thought it would. 

“That’s not the answer you wanted. I’m sorry, Malfoy.” He sat up again. “I really am.”

“It’s OK. We have Teddy. He’s like our kid anyway. He spends more time here than he does with Andromeda, and he knows we love him like crazy.” I wiped a tear from my eye and stood up. “Coffee?”

“Sure.” He put his glasses on and watched me leave the living room for the relative safety of the kitchen. 

I didn’t mean to break down, but I didn’t realise how badly I wanted kids with Potter until they were taken off the table. I was still crying when he realised I wasn’t making him coffee. He came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me and kissed my neck. “I’m sorry, Malfoy. I’m so, so sorry.” I leaned against him and placed my hands on his, unable to speak. “I know how you feel about being a Wizard, but maybe if we had Muggle kids…”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I turned to look at him. “Let’s table the discussion for now, OK?” I grabbed his hand and pulled him to the living room. We didn’t have a real fireplace like at Grimmauld Place, but we were able to find an electric one that sat on the wall, and didn’t throw off any heat. I pulled the blanket off of the couch and spread it out on the floor. I got comfortable and looked at Potter. An irrational voice in my head said that if he didn’t join me, it was over between us. 

I didn’t need to worry. He lay down next to me, and wrapped his arms around me. “We have Teddy, Potter. It’s OK. I’ll be OK. We’ll figure it out. It’s nothing that has to be decided right now.”

“I love you, Malfoy.” 

“Shut up, Potter. You’re wasting perfectly good silence.” He had said the same thing to me years ago, when I was about to go back to Azkaban. I wondered if he remembered. His smile told me he did.

We were still curled up in front of the fire when Teddy came looking for us. “Dwaco?”

“Hey, buddy.” I pulled away from Potter to look at the boy. His hair was blond again and he was in a black suit. I was positive that Potter had changed the boy into his pyjamas. “What’s up?”

Instead of answering me, he wriggled his way in between Potter and I. He lay on top of me and sloppily kissed me on the cheek. “I wuv you, Dwaco.”

I could see Potter’s smile out of the corner of my eye. “Love you, too, kiddo. Shouldn’t you be sleeping? I thought Uncle Harry put you to bed.”

“Wanted to sleep wif you.” He yawned and rested his head on my chest. 

I stroked the blond hair on the top of his head and buried my nose in the fine hair. I loved the way he smelled. Maybe not as much as I loved the way Potter smelled, but it was a close second. Potter rolled on to his side and wrapped his arm around both of us.

We may not ever have kids of our own, but we do have Edward Remus Lupin.

And that’s OK with me.


	14. 3 July 2002 - Independence Day

Potter has developed this weird obsession with America’s Independence Day…

So. We’re in Boston. Massachusetts. United States of America.

We flew over the ocean in an aeroplane, and it was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done. Potter also seemed to be terrified, but he was smart enough to take a calming draught. I was too stubborn. 

Air sickness. Tiny loos. Too many people breathing the same air. Screaming babies. Tiny seats. 

It was too much to bear. 

We’ve already traded in our coach seats for first class on the return flight. Because, really, what use is having a shit ton of Galleons if you can’t use them? (Also, credit cards? BRILLIANT!)

Potter’s fame carried across the Atlantic, so when we arrived at the aeroport, there was someone waiting to bring us to the hotel. It was surreal to see a sign that said “Harry Potter” being held aloft by what appeared to be a homeless Muggle. We later found out that Charlie Weasley had made the warm welcome possible and that our host, a uni student named Ollie, had actually been born in England, but his family had fled when he was a baby. They had been terrified by the first Wizarding War, and applied to the United States Wizarding Community, seeking asylum. 

I wasn’t prepared for there to be Wizards in the States. I’d never really thought about the world outside the UK. I’d never needed to, and even if I had wanted to, the situation at home had been an unwelcome distraction…

After a night’s restless sleep in our hotel room, we met up again with Ollie. He was thrilled to play tour guide to ‘The Famous Harry Potter’, which made Potter grin and me giggle. He was only eighteen, a year older than Potter had been when he killed Tom Riddle. (VOLDEMORT. I need to stop doing that.) It was amazing, to me, to see how young and carefree Ollie was. He’d never experienced what we had… He lived in this safe bubble and I wanted to hate him for that. I really wanted to hate him for that. 

But. He was a lot of fun to hang out with. 

Ollie took us on a thing called a Duck Boat. It was a huge car/boat thing that the military supposedly used and it drove around Boston and then went in the river. It was almost fun, but watching the big vehicle try to navigate the crowded Boston streets was… interesting to say the least. Our Duck Boat driver (captain?) kept making us quack, which was annoying. Malfoy’s don’t quack. Potter did, though. He had the biggest smile on his face, and before long, I was quacking along with him. Ollie spent the whole tour just staring at us. 

It wasn’t until we got off the vehicle and headed off to get lunch that he suddenly stopped and took a good look at me. “Do you still have it? The Mark,” he whispered. I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Of course, he wanted to see the Mark. Everyone did. It was like they needed proof as to how horribly stupid I had been when I was younger.

“It’s faded. You can barely see it any more.” Potter intervened. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask to see my scar.”

Ollie waved him off. “I’ve seen your scar in pictures. I’ve never seen a Dark Mark before.” 

I sighed and pulled my sleeve up; I never wore short sleeves unless I was with Potter or Mother. It hadn’t faded nearly as much as I had hoped, but then again, my skin was unusually pale. I hated people looking at it - even people who had grown used to it. “There you go. The Dark Mark.”

He reached out and touched it. (I don’t know why people insist on doing that. It’s bloody fucking annoying… and that’s when it’s Potter’s friends. I wanted to hex this boy’s bits into next week. How dare he think he could touch me?) “It hurt, didn’t it?” I nodded. There didn’t seem to be anything else to do. “I got this when I turned eighteen.” He pulled up the sleeve on his t-shirt, showing a tattoo of the Deathly Hollows up high on his bicep. 

Potter paled. “Why would you get that?”

“My mother asked me the same thing… 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard' was my favourite book when I was growing up and the story of the Deathly Hollows was the one I always asked her to read. I just think it’s cool looking.” He shrugged and pulled his sleeve back down. “I wonder if it was just a tale, or if there really was a Master of Death.”

I didn’t think it was possible for Potter to get any paler. He had finally told me about how Dumbledore had given him the Resurrection Stone, how he’d won the Elder Wand from me, and how his father had been a descendent of the owner of the Invisibility Cloak. As far as some people in Potter's inner circle were concerned, Potter had been the Master. Thankfully, those details had never been made public. “I think it was just a story. There’s no such things as stones that can bring the dead back to life, or a cloak that makes you invisible.” 

Ollie shook his head. “Damn. It’d be cool if it was a true story.”

“It’s just a child’s fairy tale.” Potter’s words were sharp, and the look Ollie gave him was curious. It seemed that Potter’s anger had given away the truth. At least Ollie had the good sense not to push it. “It’s a good story, but there’s absolutely no truth to it.”

Potter started walking in the direction we had originally been heading. I chased after him whilst Ollie stayed behind. He called after us, told us that he decided to take us to the Green Dragon for lunch. He said it was a pub the locals called the ‘Headquarters of the Revolution.’ Potter’s face broke out into a grin. “That’d be brilliant!” 

I nodded. “For whatever reason, Potter’s obsessed with the Revolution.”

In the States, the legal drinking age is 21, but he was insistent we have a pint together. Ollie pulled out a fake ID and said his girlfriend’s brother sold them to uni students. Fake IDs. I didn’t understand the point, but then again, I’d never been ‘carded’ (as he called it) when Potter and I went to our local. Maybe the War made us look older than we are. I certainly felt older than 23. He sighed and put the card back into his wallet. “They’re pretty good at checking ID there. I may not be able to grab a pint with you.” 

I looked at Potter and he shook his head, no. We weren’t going to a different place just because this kid couldn’t have a beer with us, and we definitely weren’t going to invite him back to our hotel room. “You’re not missing much. Malfoy and I aren’t really beer drinkers.” It was a lie, of course. We drank beer with Muggles and fire whiskey when we were with other Wizards. Not as much as it appeared that we did, but we did over-indulge from time to time. 

Lunch was… tolerable. Their attempt at real fish and chips was laughable. Potter didn’t seem to be impressed with their bangers and mash, but Ollie scarfed down his meal like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted. His mother must have forgotten how to make proper British food. If he ever came to London, he was going to get an education in what food was supposed to taste like. Starting with the chippy near our flat.

Ollie had insisted on buying lunch for us and then we went over to the Common. London had lots of parks, but I was suitably impressed. It was also nice that everything was within walking distance. It felt like London… down to the cranky public transport. After what felt like forever, he left us in front of our hotel. 

Potter and I ran to the safety of our room as quickly as we could. He fell on the bed, laughing. “Remind me to kick Charlie in the shins for that.”

“He seemed nice enough.” I fell on the bed next to him. We’d left up the ‘do not disturb’ sign and the bed was still unmade, the musky scent of our morning romp still heavy in the air. I was growing hard just thinking about how Potter had woken me up.

“Who gets a tattoo of the Deathly Hollows?”

“At least it wasn’t the Mark.” I sighed and adjusted myself. “He’s young, he’s American. He doesn’t know. You can’t blame him for that. He’s a fucking Muggle… he knows nothing about our world, just what appeared in the news here, which probably wasn’t a lot.”

Potter sighed and rolled so he was facing me. “It’s a good thing they don’t get the Prophet here.” He placed his hand on my hip and squeezed. “Could you imagine? It was bad enough, with just the little bit he knew.”

I sighed. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, but I wasn’t going to tell Potter that. He wouldn’t appreciate it. Instead, I brushed the hair off of his face and kissed him. My lips pressed against his gently, my fingers tangled in his hair. We had rushed this morning, eager to get going on our American adventure. I wasn’t going to rush this. I wanted to take him apart, slowly, gently, until he’d come from just my fingers in his arse. I’d done it before and I knew I could do it again. It was just a matter of getting him to let me. Normally, he was impatient and begged me to fuck him. Hard. Fast. It was the way I loved to fuck him, but sometimes, I just needed to make love to him. I kissed him again, my tongue licking at the seam of his lips. He moaned into my mouth and my tongue was allowed access.

He gripped my hip harder and began to rut against me, breaking the kiss long enough to whisper the cleaning spell on both of us. The cold, tingling sensation still took some getting used to because I didn’t bottom nearly as much as he did, but the promise of what it meant was a huge turn on. He began kissing me again, his hands tearing at my clothes. I let him undress me and then I returned the favour, breaking away to kiss every single bit of skin that was exposed. Letting him know that I was setting the pace, not him. He arched under my lips as I sucked on his earlobe, nipped at the skin over his Adam’s apple, stopping at each part of his body to leave my mark.

I had finally worked my way down to his cock. The head had emerged from his foreskin and it was damp. I gave it a perfunctory lick, just enough to get him to squirm, not nearly enough to make him moan my name the way he did. He was ready for anything and the thought of him already that excited made it harder for me to keep my slow pace. I’d probably taken the better part of an hour just worshiping every part of his body that wasn’t his cock… and then I rolled him over. He got on his hands and knees, willingly, probably expecting me to begin fingering him. 

I’ll admit that what I did next would have probably thrown the Ministry into a tizzy if they were monitoring my magic usage. I barely used magic, afraid that if I did, they’d catch it and throw me back in Azkaban, but Potter had taught me a wandless spell or two, and I used one of them now. I spread his cheeks and licked a wide stripe from his balls to his puckered hole. I hadn't been sure that this was something I'd ever want to try, because... Ew! But the tiny sounds Potter made were totally worth it, even if I did have to cast an industrial strength cleaning spell to get over my fear of... Unwelcome surprises.

He whimpered, mewled, cussed and whispered my last name as I soaked him with my saliva, preparing him for my tongue. He dropped his head to the bed and I watched as his hands fisted in his hair. He couldn't possibly be comfortable like that, but I wasn't planning on stopping any time soon. I stiffened my tongue and slid it in effortlessly.

Potter howled and pulled away from me, gasping for breath. He landed on his stomach and spoke into the pillow, "Malf...sto... Plea..." He was so far gone, he couldn't even finish a word, let alone a simple sentence. I smirked. I loved seeing him like this: all flush, hair a bigger disaster than usual… I will never get tired of being the one who makes Harry Potter gasp and groan in pure ecstasy. 

"OK, Potter. Since you asked so nicely, I'll stop." He whispered a different cleaning spell and my mouth was once again minty fresh. I licked, nipped, and kissed my way back up his body. I could feel his muscles ripple under his skin as he fought the urge to rut against the sheets. "What do you want, Potter? Use your words."

He rolled over to face me and I could see he was contemplating his choices. Some times, I took what I wanted, some times he was the one in charge, and then there were some times when what the other wanted was asked. The only rule we had was that your answer had to be honest. 

He bit his bottom lip so hard, I thought he was going to bite right through it. "Will you ride me?”

“Yes.” I rolled over and grabbed the lube and placed it in his outstretched hand. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to being fucked by Potter. I don’t feel whatever Potter feels when he’s full of cock. Thankfully, he’s OK with the fact that it’s not for me. It doesn’t mean I won’t… I do it more than I want to because it makes Potter happy. That sounds terrible; like he forces me to do things against my will. There’s never been a situation where consent has not been explicitly granted, and there’s never been a situation where he hasn’t stopped when I’ve asked. Even when he’s about to come…

Have I mentioned that I don’t deserve him?

I laid on my back and wrapped my fist around my cock, stroking leisurely, while his fingers worked me open. He managed to do it quickly and thoroughly, but it still wasn't quick enough, and my erection waned despite the attention I’d been paying to it. He’s gotten used to this as well and he doesn’t take it personally. Once he starts stroking my prostrate, I’ll perk back up and we’ll get back to it. He found it easily and the sensitive nub sent a shockwave of pleasure through my body. Despite my lack of interest in having him fuck me, he is very good at making me want it, once we get past the preparation. 

My erection was back with a vengeance. I was as ready as I’d ever be and he moved onto his back, holding his cock up. I manoeuvred into position and sank down on him. The familiar, uncomfortable, sensation of being full of Potter hadn't gone away and I moved slowly back up his shaft, relishing the feeling of being empty. Potter groaned as I slid back down. His hands grabbed my hips and held me still as he took control. My mind began to wander, so I leant forward to kiss him. The change in angle meant his thrusts passed over my prostrate and I started to enjoy myself. The uncomfortable feeling finally turned to pleasure and I began to ride him in earnest. I threw my head back and grabbed my cock. I needed to stay aroused, or he would stop this, and we both knew he wanted to come in me.

He began to thrust, harder and faster, whilst I struggled to keep up with his pace. He was getting closer and I was still too far away from the prize. I picked up speed, and before I knew it, I’d shouted his name and clenched around him, pulling him with me. I could feel the warm splash of his come as it filled me. I collapsed on top of him, my mess coating both of our stomachs, and I trapped it between us. He kissed me lazily, sloppily; it’s the best feeling in the world. I pulled off of him. He whinged, oversensitive, and I could feel his come dripping out of me. That’s the worst feeling in the world. I quickly whispered the cleaning spell and fell onto the bed next to him. He wrapped me in his arms, and pressed his lips against my forehead. “Thank you, Draco.”

It’s weird to hear my name fall from his lips. It’s been an unspoken, and spoken, agreement that we only refer to each other by our last names. He felt guilty for asking me, even though I willingly agreed to it. I always feel like absolute crap when he feels that way, and it’s an endless cycle. “I’m fine, Harry. It’s all fine.” It’s the truth and I grabbed his chin, hoping he'd see it in my eyes. 

He did. He finally relaxed and spooned me. We'd planned on getting a little sleep before heading over to the Esplanade to make sure we could get a seat in front of the Hatch Shell and watch the Boston Pops. It’s the concert - and the fireworks - he’s looking forward to the most out of this whole trip. The look on his face when he had talked about going overseas and experiencing this particular American holiday… I could have never said no, even if I had wanted to. 

“I’m perfectly fine, Potter. Go to sleep." I kissed his forehead and he mumbled sleepily. He’s already out cold. Sex does that to him. I do that to him. 

————

We arrived at the Esplanade early enough to get a seat on the grass. We had a blanket, lots of water, some cards, and a few books. We also packed a few picnic meals, being careful to use extending charms. We knew Ollie was somewhere nearby; he and Potter exchanged mobile numbers. He hasn’t called yet and I think that’s a good thing. Potter’s still a little angry that he has a tattoo of the Deathly Hollows. I’m angry that Potter’s angry. The War, and everything related to it, is a very sore topic. I keep trying to remember Ollie's American. He has no idea what it meant to be a British Wizard during the Second War. He was never forced to die. He was never forced to take the Mark. He doesn't even own a wand! 

We just passed the four year anniversary of the War… we just attended the fourth Remembrance Ceremony… Potter just delivered his fourth speech… and together, we survived the fourth round of his night terrors, and the ensuing depression that follows. This young American, he doesn’t understand, he can’t possibly understand. His obsession with the tale of the Three Brothers only proves that.

“One died for power, one died for love, and one greeted death as an old friend.” Potter’s repeated that a thousand times in his nightmares. He fully believes that it references Tom Riddle, Professor Snape, and himself. I knew Snape. I knew him well, and I can’t believe he was in love with Lily Potter to the point that he would die for her. Snape didn’t have the capacity to love. Obsess maybe, but I think love was too far fetched a concept for him. Potter and I actually got into a fist fight (yeah, we do still resort to fisticuffs from time to time), when I said it actually referred to him. He died for the power needed to kill the horcrux inside him. He died for love when he avenged his parents’ death and those of this friends and family. He greeted death as an old friend when he decided that he had to die in order to end the war. He was the true Master of Death. He’ll always be. 

“What are you writing about now?” Potter wrapped his arm around my back and nuzzled my neck. “What a mean boyfriend I am because I made you ride me?” There was a smile on his face. “I thought I apologised for that this morning.” 

He had. He really had. He blew me in the shower and I came so hard that I literally blacked out. There was a sore spot on the back of my head from where I hit the tiles. He wouldn’t let me reciprocate, but I had the invisibility cloak in my pocket and I was pretty sure that the Ministry couldn’t track my magic signature here. The cloak, some memory charms… and I was going to blow Potter to the sounds of the 1812 Overture. It was going to be brilliant. 

“No.” I blushed a little bit. “I’m writing about the Three Brothers.”

“Why?” He moved away from me and sat up. “Why on earth would you write about that? You know how I feel about the Hallows.”

“It’s a long story.” 

“Well, skip to the ending.” He was angry with me. I should have lied. 

“I was writing about how happy you make me.” True. Very true. 

“You always say that.”

“It’s always the truth.”

“It can’t possibly be.”

“It is.” I cupped his chin in my hand. "Every day, I write about what we did. Even if it's not interesting. Every day, I write about us and how complex our relationship is. Every day, I write down the things I want to say in front of you that I'n not brave enough to." I paused to kiss his scar. He flinched. He always flinches. "Every day, no matter what I write about, there's the underlying fact that I love you. That you're the best thing that has ever happened to me. That you will always be the best thing to ever happen to me. That I will never deserve you." I kissed his scar again. "I may not be able to say it as often as you do, but I love you with everything I've got. You make me happy in ways no one else can... So yes. Every time I write in this journal, I write about how happy you make me."

"You soppy little twat." The smile on his face negated the angry words and I smiled back. 

"I'm your soppy little twat, and don't you forget that."

"I won't."


	15. 17 March 2003 - Away on a Trip

I’m completely ratarsed, Potter, and it’s all your fucking fault, you bloody wanker. 

You left me behind whilst you, Finnegan, Thomas, Longbottom, and the Boy Weasels went out on a bender. This year, we decided that St. Patrick’s Day necessitated a trip to Dublin, and I wasn't invited. 

Oh. I’m sorry. I _was_ invited. 

Until Young Boy Weasel got angry at you for bringing me along. “No girlfriends,” he had said. As if I were the girl in this relationship! It was his way at getting back at you for agreeing with the others that the fucking Mudblood shouldn't come. (This was always a boys’ weekend and she doesn’t have a prick! Bollocks, maybe, but if she’s packing meat, I don’t want to know about it.) Despite the fact that she’d never been invited before, he had pushed hard for her inclusion this year. When you all voted against her joining us, he made a stink, you looked at me, the pain of the choice clear in your eyes, and I knew I was going to be spending the next two days alone. Yet Finnegan and Thomas probably shag more than you and I (if that were even possible!) Plus, it's obvious who wears the skirt in that relationship, but since you're spending the night at his parents' house, Finnegan gets to bring his fucking boyfriend. 

I could have thrown a fit and gone with you anyway. But. These are your friends. Your fellow Gryffindors. People you don’t see enough any more now that we’re all in relationships and their jobs have become more demanding as time passes. I don’t want to be that person; the one that keeps you from your friends. It's bad enough that there are still moments - no matter how close we’ve become - where they still hate who I was. Wounds heal slowly. I know… and it doesn’t help that my ‘friends’ and family caused the most pain to those in your circle. Let’s not discuss the fact that it was my Aunt Bella that was among those responsible for what happened to the Longbottoms. I know Neville will never forgive - nor forget - that one, but I’m not her. And besides, she’s dead. The Mother Weasel killed her. I’m not holding a grudge against the Ginger clan for that, by the way, although I’d be within my rights. I loved that crazy bitch.

No. Fuck it. And **fuck you**. I _will_ hold a grudge, dammit. I’m not the villain here. 

Wait. I let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts… Fuck. 

I’m too drunk to think about this shit.

I miss you, Potter. The bed's too big without you. I'm too cold without the ridiculous amount of body heat you throw off. The room is too quiet without your fucking snoring. (OK. Maybe I don't miss the snoring that much.)

I'm drunk enough to admit that I'm lost without you. I never wanted to be codependent, or need someone at all, but sweet fucking Merlin, do I need you. When you’re near me, the world is a happier place. I know I can fuck up as much as one person possibly can, and you’ll still be here. And even if you don’t want to be, you fucking owe me for all those long nights when I’ve sat next to you and held you after your nightmares. Or the myriad of foot rubs I’ve given you. Feet are gross, Potter. Even yours. But those fucking foot rubs make you happy, and I live for making you happy. 

I love you, Harry. 

No. Never. 

I love you, Potter.

That’s better. 

I’m druuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunk. I’m pisssssssssssssssssed. I’m ratarsedddddddddddddddd and it feels goooooooooooood. 

I will never be drunk enough to call you by your first name. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. Never. 

Neeeeeeeeevvvvvvveeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr. 

_As I went home on Sunday night, as drunk as drunk could be, I saw a thing in her thing, where my old thing should be. Well, I called me wife and I said to her: “Will you kindly tell to me, who owns that thing in your thing, where my old thing should be?”_

_“Oooooooooooh, you’re drunk. You’re drunk, you silly old fool. Still you cannot see… That’s a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me.”_

_“Well, it’s many a day I’ve travelled a hundred miles or more, but hair on a tin whistle sure I’ve never saw before!”_

Did you like that? I had a nanny that used to sing that to me when she’d get pissed. The Irish are funny. 

That’s probably why I like that arsefaced bastard Finnegan… he’s not bad looking now that his eyebrows have finally grown in. 

OOOOH! Do you want to swap one night? I’ve seen the way Thomas looks at you. Fuck. Everyone wants a crack at your arse. 

HA! Crack! Arse! Arse crack! 

Whoa. I’m fucking drunk. 

I’m so fucking drunk that I’m wasting time telling you how drunk I am…

Well, you’re still a fucking fuck… something. 

I’m going to go pass out now.

Get home soon. 

Malfoy xxxxxxxxxxxxx

——————

I don’t know whether or not to be angry because you woke me up.

You and your fucking mobile phone, you fucking Muggle. 

I’ll never understand why you love the damn thing so much… but it’s OK.

Because you called! You called! You called! You called! You called! 

I’m glad you’re missing me, too. 

Now get your ass home and spoon me. I’m cold.

***** 2015: I apologise for calling your friends derogatory names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Draco quotes is called "Seven Drunken Nights" and it's one of many Irish songs my friends' band covers. If you've never heard of it, you should check it out.
> 
>  
> 
> [Seven Drunken Nights, lyrics and video](http://www.celtic-lyrics.com/lyrics/450.html)


	16. 25 December 2003 - Christmas

I miss the Christmases of my youth sometimes…

And then I realise that Christmases with Mother, Potter, and Teddy are better than anything I’ve ever experienced. 

Potter and I just spent the last six hours trying to put together a Muggle bicycle. **_Six. Hours._** We could have used magic, but when I whipped my wand out (ha ha ha), Potter took it away from me. “To a child with a hammer, everything is a nail, Malfoy.”

Five years without a wand, and he denies me the simple pleasure of assembling a toy with magic. 

Once we got it assembled, we took it for a ride around the foyer of the Manor. Potter hadn’t ridden a bike in years, and I had never even seen one before. Mother came out once or twice to see what the noise was and then we got her on it. _**MOTHER. ON. A CHILD’S. BICYCLE.**_

Oh, sweet Merlin’s tits, I would give up my entire fortune (and Potter’s, too), to see that again. 

Thankfully, Potter allowed Mother to use her magic to secure the young boy in his room so Father(s) Christmas could do his (our) thing without waking him. It’s probably a good thing. We got kind of frustrated at one point and thought some firewhisky would help. 

Firewhisky is _never_ the answer.

Not when there are screws and wrenches and grease involved.

A sizeable portion of those hours might have been spent un-assembling and re-assembling the damn thing because the instructions didn’t make sense. (They might have also been a little blurry.) Too many of those hours might have also been spent making jokes about screwing, and nuts, and lubricants… with Mother making the majority of the jokes.

Mother is a _terrible_ influence on us.

I often wonder what she was like at Hogwarts, before she met Father. If she was like this then, Dumbledore must have had his hands full. I wish I had access to Granger’s time-turner… She’s five years older than Potter’s parents, and he’s told Teddy stories about the Marauders, so I can only imagine how crazy the castle could have been back then. Father probably wanted to send me to Durmstrang because he knew how undisciplined Hogwarts could be.

“Narcissa, you need to show me those pictures of Malfoy again.” Potter wrapped his arm around my shoulders and gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “He was cute in those little pyjamas.” We were currently sitting on the floor in the sitting room, next to the tree. “Did he stay up all night waiting?”

Mother snorted. “Accio, photo album!” She slid over to us and dropped the album into Potter’s lap. “He was between three and five in these photos, the same age as Teddy. Lucius wouldn’t have stayed up all night putting together a bicycle, but he used to do everything he could to make sure each Christmas was better than the last.” She reached out and cupped my chin in her hand. “Draco, love, your father wasn’t the monster you knew him as. Before Vold… Tom Riddle came into our lives, your father was a lot like Harry. Rakish, good looking, funny, and sexy. He was so sexy.”

“Are you saying Potter is sexy, Mother? He’s practically young enough to be your son!” 

“He is my son, my little dragon.” She kissed my forehead before turning to a page in the album and making sure Potter saw it.

“Look at your little bum sticking out.” Potter waved a picture in front of me. In the photo, I was in the bath, laying on my belly. “I can’t believe you were that little.”

"It's not fair that you don't have a mum more than willing to share embarrassing pictures of you." The words were out before I could stop them. I could feel the blush colouring my cheeks and quickly stammered out an apology.

Potter was nonplussed. "One of the few times being The Boy Who Lived works in my favour." He kissed my cheek, suddenly serious. "You never need to apologise for saying the things I'm thinking."

I watched as Mother gently pulled the album out of his hands and left the room. "Always the bloody hero."

"Always the..." He yawned, cutting off his sentence. "Bed?"

I nodded. "That sounds like a good idea."

Once we got settled in bed, he pushed my fringe off of my face and kissed the tip of my nose. "I may not have had the best childhood, and I may not have experienced all the things that are part of a normal childhood, but I was loved and cared for by the Weasleys when I needed it most... More importantly, I'm making sure that Teddy doesn't miss out on anything, and that means more to me than some silly photo album ever could."

"Teddy's lucky to have you, Potter."

"He's lucky to have _us_."

There was a soft knock on the door and Mother entered. “I’m glad you gents are still dressed.” I could hear her smirk more than see it, but Potter shifted uneasily. I held him tight against me, and waited for Mother to finish walking into the room. “When Draco was little, he used to ask me to tuck in him so tight he couldn’t move. He was afraid to fall off of the bed.”

“Mother!”

Potter chuckled. “This bed’s so big Malfoy, how could you possibly believe you’d toss and turn enough to fall off the bed? Especially when you were so little?”

I could feel Mother tucking him in. “When he got older, he used to ask me to tuck him in even tighter, so he wouldn’t be tempted to get out of bed and see Father Christmas. It wasn’t until your Fourth Year at Hogwarts that he stopped asking to be tucked in.”

“MOTHER!” I rolled so I could spoon Potter and sighed happily as I was tucked tightly into my childhood bed, practically crushed against my boyfriend. She kissed my forehead; the tucking in ritual over.

I kept waiting for Potter say something snarky about Mother tucking me in, but all he did was push back again me. “Like your mum, Malfoy. ‘Cissa’s very nice.”

She brushed her hand against Potter’s cheek and then kissed his forehead. "I like you, too, Harry." She paused and I wondered what she was thinking. "Goodnight, boys. I love you."

"Love you, too." We said in unison.

I lay there for quite a while, content, comfortable, in my childhood home, for the first time since it became Death Eater HQ. I'm sure Mother knew how much it meant to me that she tucked us in. It was such a childhood thing that I'd bet Potter never experienced... I felt a new appreciation for my mother. Father's suicide, instead of burying us in grief, granted us a freedom, a lightness, neither of us had experienced prior.

Mother and Potter might have been thrown together by my incarceration, but somewhere along the line, they had managed to become friends. It was as surreal as it was amazing...

I fell asleep quickly after that, secure in the thought that we'd managed to build this side of the family so easily and that it was going to withstand the worst life could deliver. 


	17. 30 September 2004 - Nightmares

Potter’s nightmares are the stuff of legend. 

I never knew that you could wake up so terrified that your first instinct would be to grab your wand and cast an ‘expelliarmus’. But he does. There have been nights when I’ve had to wrestle his wand out of his hand before he can cast something he’ll regret. Some nights, I’m slower to wake up and the lamp on the dresser gets hit. It’s been repaired so many times, both magically and with Muggle glue, that I’m amazed it works at all. 

I can live with what we’ve started calling the ‘wand nights’. It’s the nightmares we don’t talk about that upset me. Those are the nights he wakes up screaming my name, and he doesn’t calm down no matter how hard I try to soothe him. Those are the nights we sit there in bed, shaking, holding each other until we can breathe normally. He won’t talk about those nightmares in detail. He’s only said that he dreams about me falling off his broom in the Room of Requirement. He dreams about the night in the prefect’s bathroom. 

I want to know the details. 

Not because I want to hear them, because I don’t. I really don’t. I want to know them because I want to understand. I need to understand. 

I need to know how to make him feel better. 

He’s woken me up every night this month. I don’t know what’s triggering it. The only thing that I know of in September is the first day of Hogwarts. I don’t know if it holds any special meaning to him other than that.

He’s downstairs right now, making me tea. I don’t want tea, but I know that after the nightmares, he needs to do something. Anything. More times than not, he makes me tea. There’s something comforting to him about the ritual. So I drink it. It’s perfectly steeped, with just the right amount of honey. He’s always been able to make the perfect cuppa without even trying. It’s a small thing. A stupid thing. A sign that he’s looking for forgiveness. 

I don’t know what he thinks he needs to be forgiven for. He hasn’t done anything that requires forgiveness. 

He’s broken. Spectacularly so. I know that. 

When I think about what his life must have been like, what it must have been like to be a horcrux, to die… I can’t be angry. I could never be angry at him for that. 

We fight over a hundred stupid things, but never about our past. It refuses to lay dormant, but we dance around the topic whenever possible. 

Things come out, of course. You can’t spend six years with someone and not pick up bits and pieces. You can’t spend countless nights holding each other in front of a fireplace without blurting out something from time to time. It’s not about breaking the silence. It’s about sharing yet another part of yourself. But we don’t need to share. Our pasts might have made us who we are today, but we try not to let them define us. It’s a losing battle some days… it’s why we’re both happy living as Muggles in our little flat near the Kew Bridge.

Here he comes with the tea. One mug. Only one mug. Despite being British, Potter’s never really developed a taste for tea. His hot beverage of choice is generally coffee. Some nights, though, he’ll make himself hot cocoa and throw so many marshmallows in it that I don’t think there’s any liquid in his mug at all. Tonight’s just a tea night. Too shaken to go through the trouble of making a second drink. Needs to focus on the tea. He needs me to reassure him that I’m here. I’m still alive. That he’s saved me. The dream was about me, then. At least it wasn’t a terrible one. He didn’t wake up screaming. That’s a small bonus.

“Writing again, Malfoy?” There’s a smile in his voice and I know that he’ll threaten to pour the tea on me if I don’t put my journal down. It’s another ritual; a sign that he’s ready to go back to sleep. Which means that it’s time that I stop writing and hold him. I don’t fall asleep as easily as he does after his nightmares, so I’ll lay awake, running my fingers though his hair and holding him as tightly as possible. Whispering the things he needs to hear into his ears, hoping he’ll hear them and that he’ll believe them. He’s stubborn though. Ridiculously so, even after all this time

I take a sip of the tea and hum in pleasure. “Let me finish this thought and then we'll go to bed, OK?” 

“OK.” He sat down on the bed, careful not to jostle me. “What are you writing about?” 

“Tea.”


	18. 31 October 2004 - Halloween

Last night, we were putting together Teddy’s pirate costume and Potter had this rueful look on his face. I asked him what was wrong and he just sighed. “I didn’t get to do any of this when I was a kid.” He stopped and sighed again. “It’s nothing. Never mind.”

“It’s not nothing. You look absolutely miserable. What’s wrong?” I put down the glue gun, making sure I wasn’t going to glue my fingers together again. Three times in one night is a little much; I don’t care how many times Potter tells me it’s adorable.

“I missed out on so much. I didn’t have the best childhood. My aunt and uncle didn’t treat me very well and I spent the first ten years of my life sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs. I was expected to be invisible, except when there were chores to be done. I got Dudley’s hand-me-downs, even though they were always too big for me. I had nothing. Absolutely nothing, but a family that resented me for what I reminded them of: my freak parents.” He carefully painted the skull and crossbones on Teddy’s hat. “I know you think it’s stupid that I wanted to make every bit of this costume by hand instead of buying one, but I never got to do this. Not once. Dudders,” he snarled at the old nickname, “got everything he wanted. Including great big bags of candy purchased from the shops when he didn’t get as much as he thought he should from trick or treating.” 

“I never went trick or treating, either.” I shrugged. I didn’t see the point of going door to door, begging strangers for candy, but it had a certain appeal to both Potter and Teddy. “It’s not really a thing in the Wizarding World.”

“My parents died on Halloween.”

“I know,” I whispered. He said the same thing every Halloween.

“Tom Riddle killed my parents on Halloween night, 1981.” He said it softly. “My father first. Then my mother. They were only 21 years old.” He fingered the brim of the black felt hat. “I’m older than my parents were when they died.” He slumped in his chair. “I should have stayed dead.”

I knew this Potter: the sad, defeated, lost little boy. He was going to cry himself to sleep tonight, once he thought I was asleep and couldn’t hear him. I took a deep breath and covered his hand with mine. “No. You should not have stayed dead. You needed to avenge them. You needed to show him he couldn’t beat you. And you did. And you were amazing.”

He wiped a tear from his eye and smiled. “I did show him he couldn’t beat me, didn’t I?” 

I got up from my chair and climbed onto his lap. “You did. You were bloody brilliant. I was so proud of you.”

“Bollocks.” 

“I was proud of you. I am proud of you. I will always be proud of you.” I leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, Potter. I’m glad you came back.”

He reached up and grabbed my hair, pulling my head back. A little pain, a lot of pleasure, just the way I like it. He kissed and sucked at my neck before burying his face in the crook of my neck. “I’m glad I came back, too.” 

“Let’s finish Teddy’s costume, and then I can show you just how glad I am that you came back.” 

“Let’s not finish Teddy’s costume, you can show me how glad you are that I came back, and then I’ll use magic to finish the costume.”

“What happened to ‘I don't like using magic’,” I teased. He bit the side of my neck, right under my earlobe and I groaned. 

“You don’t seem to mind when I use magic to cast silencing spells.” 

“Well, if Lupin wasn’t here all the time, we wouldn’t need the spells nearly as often, would we?”

“Like I’m the only one who wants him here.” 


	19. 2 May 2008 - Ten Years

Potter,

It’s been ten years since you died and came back to life to save us all.

Ten years since you and I first sat together under that tree. 

You’ve been pulling away from me for days and I don’t fully understand why. I can only guess that it’s because you’re lost, so lost, in your pain. I know you see their faces all the time. I know that you chant their names in your nightmares. All I can do is hold you tight and let you cry against my chest. It’s not enough. It will never be enough. But it’s all I can do.

Every year, this gets harder for you. I wish you wouldn’t go. I wish they would leave you alone, and not trot you out every year. You shouldn’t have to make the same speech every year about the War and healing and all that other bullshite. But that will never happen.

You’re the bloody Hero. 

Nothing you can ever say or do is going to change how the world views you. You killed Tom Riddle and freed us all - and don’t think I don’t notice how you use his human name around me. I’m not sure why you insist on doing that; it only makes you worse. 

You committed a murder. 

Yes. I know. 

Everyone knows. You made it quite clear during my trial.

But you miss the point of the remembrance ceremonies. You always do. 

People want to see you because it gives them hope for the future. It reminds them that the dark days are behind us. They - we - know an 18 year old boy sacrificed it all for us and that we’ll never be able to thank him for that. Those ceremonies are not only to remember those we’ve lost, they’re to celebrate you, Hermione, Ron, and Longbottom, and everyone else that fought so bravely. 

I know that my appearance at these ceremonies makes it even harder for you. I know that you still hear the voices in the courtroom: the disbelief that Harry Potter could make a life with a Death Eater. That he could fall in love with one. What a traitor you are. I know you try to ignore the comments people still make about me when we go to Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. 

I know that my past hurts you more than it hurts me some days. 

Yet, ten years in, you still refuse to talk about any of it.

I can’t leave your side today, and you know why. Hermione and Ron, even Ginny, they all love you very much, but they don’t know you like I do. They don’t know about the dark depressions that lie to you and tell you horrible things. They haven’t been there for the days your grief hits you so hard that you cry until you vomit. They don’t see the way you drink until you pass out, hoping to quiet the voices in your head.

They don’t know the Real Potter. Only I do… and that’s both a blessing and a curse. 

I don’t need to tell you that, though.

I love you, Potter. I will get you through this. **Again.**

And then we’ll go to the Leaky and we’ll raise a toast to those you couldn’t save: Crabbe, Snape, Fred, Dumbledore, Hedwig, Lupin, Tonks, Colin, Mad-Eye Moody, Sirius, Dobby, James, and Lily… 

You’ll get completely pissed and you’ll either yell at me for being stupid (and blond, but I don’t know why that matters), or you’ll cling to me and cry, or you’ll insist I take you home for sloppy drunk sex so you don’t have to think, or you’ll make me take you to Godric’s Hollow, where you’ll sit in front of your parents’ gravestone and babble for hours about how much you miss them. 

I’ll do whatever it takes to bring that spring back to your step, that light back into your eyes. Even if it means listening to you yelling at me about how stupid (and blond) I am because I know it’s temporary. Well, the yelling is temporary. I can’t do much about the fact that my hair is blond or the fact that you think I’m stupid.

And tomorrow, we’ll celebrate our ten year anniversary. We never do it today. We can never do it today. We will never do it today. Today’s the day we celebrate you. Tomorrow, we celebrate us.

We’ll get drunk again, and possibly have even more sloppy drunk sex, whilst declaring our love for each other in between gasps and groans. Maybe I’ll even let you top. I don’t know. That’s tomorrow. 

Today, I’m going to get out of bed and start your breakfast. I’ll even pull out your dress robes - the rich green ones that bring out your eyes - since we know you still can’t be allowed to dress yourself.

I want to wake you up so badly, and let you know, in every way that I possibly can, that I love you more than anything. I will always love you…

But, for now, I’ll let you sleep and gather your strength. You’re going to need it.

Love, 

Malfoy x 


	20. 31 July 2008 - Happy Birthday, Potter

Today is Potter’s birthday. He’s going to be 28 today. It’s weird to think he’s kept me around to celebrate ten birthdays. Especially because, for some reason, I can never seem to remember that his birthday is the 31st of July. 

Potter says I don’t remember because it’s not important to me because I’m a selfish bastard and I only think of myself.

He’s not completely wrong. I _am_ a selfish bastard.

I do remember, though. I just don’t remember early enough to plan something special for him.

But I did this year.

I remembered, and I have something absolutely brilliant planned. 

We’re going to have a surprise party at the Manor tonight. I made sure all the Weasleys were invited. I only invited our families. More importantly, I only invited those that have truly accepted my spot in Potter’s life. (Except for Ron. I’m not sure that he will ever fully accept me...but with Granger as his wife, he has no choice but to work harder at it. Personally, as long as he continues to fake it well enough to fool Potter, I’m not going to complain.) I chose to make it an intimate gathering because I have big plans for tonight, and I didn’t want anyone to ruin it. 

I’m going to ask Potter to marry me. 

I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I’ve been struggling to pick the perfect date. I didn’t want to ask him on a holiday, in case things went arse over tits between us. I didn’t want to ask him on either of our birthdays, also in case things went bad between us. Why ruin a special occasion over a stupid relationship?

That said, I’m tired of waiting and it’s either now or never. 

I bought him a watch to replace the one he damaged in the final battle with Tom Riddle. (Now he’s got me doing it. VOLDEMORT. The final battle was with VOLDEMORT. *sigh*) I wanted to do something special so I had the back side engraved with ‘I believe you’. When I think about everything that happened in those first few months of our relationship - Azkaban, Father’s suicide, my trial - I think about laying in bed that one night during my brief break from Azkaban. I told him that I didn't want to get used to sleeping with him and that maybe I should sleep on the couch. The stubborn prat said ‘No. You're getting used to this. You're coming home and we're going to do this every night. For the rest of our lives. End of discussion.’ I said I wished I could believe him. He said he wished I could, too. 

I do now.

I believe that we are going to share a bed for the rest of our lives… and I want to do everything I can to ensure that happens. Including asking him to marry me.

He’ll probably say no. 

He hasn’t been interested in the typical romantic trappings of a regular relationship. Maybe it’s because we’re two blokes. Maybe it’s because we’re both alpha dogs. I don’t know. We’ve never talked about our relationship, past, present, or future. We still barely talk about anything personal. Ten years of curling up in front of a fire, living in the present. Never the past. The future too unknown, too uncertain, to make plans. 

Long story short, I don’t know how he feels about getting married. If he were interested, he would have brought it up by now, I would think. Or does he expect me to ask? He’s the bottom, the more submissive partner… does he feel on some part that it’s my job? It’s not like we’re full on into BDSM and I’m going to ask him to wear my collar. (Note to self: _**NO MORE DRUNKEN NIGHTS OUT WITH BLAISE AND PANSY.**_ Potter must never know of the things I saw that night. I may have to ask Granger if there’s a way to bleach my brain and get rid of those images.)

So. Yeah. No Muggle engagement rings. Just a watch with a sweet sentiment that means absolutely nothing, except that it means everything... I wish I knew how to talk to him about everything I’m feeling and thinking. I wish I knew if it was OK to talk about those things with him. Don’t get me wrong, I like the fact that we don’t talk about our pasts. I don’t want to talk about being a Death Eater, or being a pureblood. I don’t want to think about Father, or the things he did. Or the things I was forced to do. 

I want to focus on the feel of his lips against mine, his body curled against mine as we sleep, the way he makes my tea perfectly, the way his face lights up when I walk into the room… the way he makes me feel like I’m the most important person in the world.

Malfoys don’t show emotion. We don't know how to love like normal people. We’re our own special subset of damaged goods. I love him more than anything and he’s the most important person in my world, but he’s still right. **STILL.** I suck at showing him how much he means to me. Maybe this is the best way to do it. Nothing makes a statement like a proposal, right?

I really hope he says yes.

Wish me luck.


	21. 1 September 2009 - Hogwarts Express

Teddy started Hogwarts today.

I don’t know who blubbered worst: Potter or Andromeda. I may have shed a tear or two as well… the kid is my second cousin and we’ve spent so much time together he might as well be my son. He’s practically Potter’s. 

That’s weird to think: Potter and I could have had a son when we were 18. Thankfully, Mother’s teasing about Wizards being able to get pregnant was just that: teasing. Either that, or we’ve managed to dodge a pretty large bullet over the past 11 years. I don’t necessarily think having kids would be a bad thing, but we’ve got our hands full with Lupin. Thankfully, he didn’t inherit the lycanthropy from his father. However, he is a fucking Metamorphmagus. When he was younger, he liked messing with us when we would take him out in Muggle London. How do you explain to someone why your child’s face looks like a pig’s? Halloween masks only work as an excuse for so long…

I’ve watched Potter and Teddy interact since the War ended. They have an amazing connection; Potter thinks it’s because they’re both orphans of War. It’s possible, I guess. I don’t know what it feels like, so I can only go with what he says. I’m fortunate enough to still have Mother. She’s changed quite a bit since Father killed himself and I left Azkaban. She’s happier, carefree, way more emotional. She’s told me she loves me more now than she ever did when I was growing up. Potter never misses an opportunity to tell Teddy he loves him, or how great his parents were. 

I still struggle to tell all of them how much I love them.

Potter wears the watch I gave him, though. Every time he looks at it, he smiles, so I think I’ve done OK. At least, I think I’m getting better. We haven’t fought about it as much as we used to. (We do fight about our wedding ceremony; Mother says it’s normal for the bride to get completely anal-retentive about her wedding. Potter and I laughed so hard about the word ‘anal’… and then we realised she called us both the bride. Well played, Mother, well played.)

I keep getting distracted. I’m blaming the fire whiskey. We all drank a little too much after we returned to the Manor, and it’s not helping that I’m sitting on Potter’s lap, he has an enormous erection, and he keeps kissing my neck. Mother keeps looking at us. More than once, she’s cleared her throat. Yes, it’s probably time for us to go have sex in my childhood room, but I’m not going until I’m…

Oooooooh. He just licked my neck. I may have just whimpered a little bit. 

Teddy. Potter. Kids. Hogwarts.

Potter would make an amazing father, and I feel a little bad that we’ll never have kids of our own. He’s everything you would want in a father, everything my father wasn’t. Everything I wish I could be. Everything I strive to be. Teddy would never doubt that he was surrounded by people who loved him… and now he was off to Hogwarts. There are lots of milestones in a young wizard’s life, but none as major as their first day of school. I wish I could go back and experience it all for the first time, knowing what I know now. I think I’d have been a better fit for Ravenclaw, if I’m to be totally honest. OOOOOOOOOH. Potter just nibbled my ear, and I squeaked. Mother is laughing at us and cheering Potter on. She may be as drunk as we are, if not drunker. 

Merlin’s tits, I’m hard.

******** 2015: Potter, this was supposed to be a beautiful entry on how much of a wonderful father you’d be. How much I love you. How great a kid Teddy was growing up to be. How proud I am of you becoming the father we’ve both always lacked in our lives… instead, you turned me on to the point where you and I had to run off and fuck in my old room. Twat. 


	22. 15 April 2010 - Promotion

Sometimes, I really wonder what the eleven year old version of me would think of my life. 

Fraternising with mud bloods and Weasleys. Engaged to Harry Potter… a halfblood. 

And let’s not forget the fact that Potter and I basically have been raising Teddy Lupin, a half blood Hufflepuff. 

As if none of that were bad enough, tonight we were at the Manor (yes, the MANOR), celebrating Hermione’s promotion in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. 

Father totally would have had kittens if he were alive for this. 

Mother agrees that father probably would have lost his mind, which is why - more often than not - she offers up the Manor for all sorts of celebrations. Especially when the guest list includes mud bloods, half bloods, Weasleys, and Potters. 

So tonight, Ron, Hermione, Potter and I celebrated her rise through the Ministry. We were going to make a bigger deal out of it, but she had begged for a quiet night; just the four of us. It’s nice that it can be the four of us… we’ve come a long way in dealing with Ron’s jealousy of, or feelings of inadequacy when compared to, Potter. Even more surprisingly, Ron was finally warming up to me. The barely hidden glares were now even fewer and even more far between. Maybe it had to do with the craft beer brewing kit I got him for his birthday in March, but he was downright jovial tonight. 

We had settled in the great room, sprawled out on the floor in a rough circle. Mother had all this nice furniture, but it felt too nice and we always wound up on the floor with pillows. “Draco,” Ron said as he pulled a bottle of beer from Hermione’s purse, “I’ve managed to make the finest porter I’ve ever tasted.” He thrust it towards me. I looked Hermione, nervous. Old habits die hard; how could I not assume it might be poisoned? “Try it. It won’t kill you.” I took the bottle and looked at it. He’d even had special labels made for the bottles. I was drinking ‘Portkey Porter’. Not the most original name, but I had to admit, the beer smelt incredible. “It’s a beer, mate. Not a glass of wine.” 

He calls me ‘mate’ now. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m not sure I want to be his mate. I didn’t think we were at that point in our relatively new friendship. Twelve years, and we’re finally to the point where we’re not faking the friendliness as much any more. 

I took a sip and passed it on to Potter. I wasn’t a fan; it came on a little too strong for me, but it was better to lie to Ron than risk everything we’ve worked so hard to achieve. “It’s not bad… for a porter. I prefer my beers as pale as me.” 

Potter choked on it. “Oi, mate! Are you trying to kill us? This is way too strong! Do you not have any taste buds?” 

I caught my grin in time. Ron looked crushed at Harry’s reaction. “Hermione says it’s too strong, too, but I really like it.” 

“So keep making it. For yourself.” Potter handed the bottle back to Ron. “This is undrinkable.” 

Ron pouted. “Will you try my IPA? That’s probably more in line with what Malfoy prefers.” 

A second bottle appeared from Hermione’s purse and was thrust into my hand. The label read ’Hedwig’s IPA’ and I looked up at Ron in horror. Hedwig’s death had been really hard for Potter to get over, and I couldn’t believe Ron would use her name as a beer flavour. I suppose, in his defence, it was a really pale ale. He probably couldn’t have made one much paler, so it fit the beautiful snowy white owl. Ron only shrugged. “Just taste it.” 

The beer was incredible. It was the best beer I’d ever tasted. “Sweet Merlin’s tits, Weasley! This is the best beer I’ve ever had. You’ve got to make more of this!” 

He pulled out a six pack. “It was supposed to go with dinner, but you didn’t serve anything beer friendly.” 

“No. This is a wine house. Mother thinks beer is for fun drinking, not meal drinking.” It was a weird rule of hers; she got drunk on beer with us all the time. I shrugged. “Her house, her cooking, her rules.” 

Ron shrugged, too. “Give it to Harry.” 

Potter took a sip and immediately relaxed. “This is…” he read the label. “Hedwig. You named your beer after Hedwig?” Potter placed the bottle on the floor a little harder than I’m sure he meant to. Or maybe he didn’t. It’s hard to tell with him sometimes, when he gets angry. “You don’t get to name your fucking beer after my fucking owl, like it’s no big thing.” I wrapped my arm around him and whispered into his ear, asking him to calm down. He tensed up even more, before storming out of the room. He was headed to my old bedroom. Our bedroom at the Manor. 

Hermione clucked her tongue against her teeth. “I told you, you should have asked first.” 

I glared at both of them, channelling Potter’s anger. “How could you two, especially you, Granger, think that’s acceptable at all? You shouldn’t have needed to ask first, because you should have been smart enough to NOT FUCKING DO IT.” She flinched at the use of her last name. I hadn’t called her that in a long time. 

“It’s just an owl,” Ron finally said. 

“It’s not just an owl to Potter. She was his first connection to the Wizarding World. Hagrid bought her for Potter’s eleventh birthday. She was one of his best friends, even more so than you two. He loved that bird with his whole heart and he was crushed when she was hit by the Killing Curse. He had to destroy the side car she was in, which made it even worse. Why do you think he never replaced her? Why do you think it’s always my owl you see?” 

“I thought he was over it,” Hermione said softly. “He seemed OK.” 

“He always seems OK. He fakes it. He’s not OK. Not at all.” I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. “He has nightmares all the time about the War. Her name is one of the ones he repeats in his sleep, when he lists the names of the dead. Out of all the people he watched die in front of him, her death is probably worse than Sirius’s or Dumbledore’s, and you know how poorly he took those.” I stood up and began to pace the room. “The fucking Remembrance Ceremony is coming up in less than a month, and he’s a wreck. Already.” I stopped in front of them. “You don’t know what it’s like to be with him all the time. You don’t know the moods. You don’t know the anger. The sadness. It’s a lot to deal with… but I will stand by his side until his last days. And I will protect him from well-meaning friends if I have to.” I crossed my arms over my chest and doubled the intensity of my glare. “He ran to our bedroom, locked himself in, and he’s probably hiding in the bathtub, rocking, under the shower… which would be water just this side of freezing. You don’t have any idea what you’ve done.” 

“I didn’t know,” Ron whispered. “She was just a bloody owl. Owls die.” 

“They can live up to 60 years, Weasley. They’re not like cats. He and Hedwig should have grown old together.” 

“I think we should leave.” Hermione gathered up the beer, even the full ones, and placed them all in her purse. “Tell Harry we’re really sorry.” 

“Sorry’s not enough. Get the fuck out of my house.” 

I watched them disappear through the Floo and then warded it shut. I took a deep breath and headed up to our room. I was right… the door was locked and I could hear the water running. Mother was walking down the hallway, coming to check on him as well. “I heard shouting. Is everything OK?” 

“No. Weasley’s started to make his own beer. He made this incredibly pale beer, but he named it after Potter’s owl. Potter freaked out. They really should have known better… or if they really wanted to use it, he should have asked.” 

“Oh. That’s terrible. I thought they were his friends.” 

“Mother.” I shot her a look. “They don’t know. They think Hedwig’s just an owl. They don’t fully understand what she represents to him. He doesn’t talk to them. Remember how we spent months of our relationship sitting in front of the fireplace, saying absolutely nothing? We still do that a lot. Too much. It takes him time, a lot of time, to open up about the things that hurt him the most. He repeats the names of those he lost in his sleep when he’s having a bad night. It took me six years to find out about Hedwig, and then I only found out because I wanted to buy him a new one for his birthday. I didn’t know what she meant to him, but he told me how he got her, how she was his best friend, and how she died. It was terrible, Mother, to watch him break down as he talked about her.” 

“Let’s go get him, then.” She wordlessly cast the spell that would unlock every door in the Manor, despite how strong the spells used to lock them. Once we were in the room, she made a beeline for the bath. She turned the water off, cast a drying spell, and gathered him in her arms. I felt a little jealous; comforting Potter was my job, after all, but sometimes he needed more than I could offer him. More times that not, Mother came to the rescue. “Harry, it’s going to be OK. Draco and I are right here.” She rested her back against the bath tub, Potter in between her spread legs. He was slumped against her body and she ran her hands soothingly over his back. Twenty nine years old, and he needed a mother more than a toddler did. It was touching to watch. 

He snuffled into her neck and reached his arm out, looking for me. I moved next to Mother and he shifted so that he was sprawled over both of us. I kissed his cheek and ran my fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. He sighed and then moved so that he was nuzzling my neck. His arm was still wrapped around my mother. It’s weird, this life we’ve created for ourselves… 

“Hedwig wasn’t just an owl,” he muttered. 

“I know, Harry,” Mother whispered. “She was your best friend. Some pets are more than just pets. I had a cat when I was at Hogwarts, a beautiful Siamese with the bluest of eyes. I had named him Pollux, after my grandfather. Pollux went every where with me and he cared for me when I had no one else. He was prowling in one of the unused rooms in our basement, and he was bitten by a doxy. It was a terrible death.” Mother teared up. “No one deserves to die like that, especially my Pollux.” 

I had heard stories of Pollux before, but Mother never went into how he died. It was tragic to say the least. I also doubted that it was true. As far as I knew, he’d died of old age. I looked at Mother over Potter’s head and she winked. A Slytherin to the end, my Mother. It had the desired effect, though. Potter calmed down enough to crawl into my lap and let go of her. She kissed him on the forehead. “It’s still early. Do you want to come back downstairs? I have ice cream and treacle tarts.” 

Potter shook his head. “I think I want to go to bed. Will you tuck me in, Narcissa?” He sounded so young, it was heart breaking. This thing with Hedwig ran deeper than he’d made me believe. “Never mind. It’s stupid.” 

“It’s never stupid to want to be mothered, Harry. Go get your pyjamas on, and I’ll tuck you in. Off with you!” 

Potter scampered off to grab his pyjamas and I kissed my mother’s cheek. “Thank you for telling him about Pollux… and thank you for being here for him.” I hugged her as tightly as I could. “Thank you so much.” 

“I love Harry, Draco. I love him because he saved your life more than once. I love him because you love him. And most importantly, I love him because he’s a good person who deserves to be loved. He’s got a good family in the Weasleys, but I know Molly can be smothering. He is always welcome here, and I am always more than happy to tuck him in, as juvenile as it may seem.” 

“You’re amazing, Mother. We’re lucky to have you.” 

“I know.” She smirked at me. “Go put on your jammies, so I can tuck you in.” 

———

We weren't in bed very long before Potter sat up and turned the light on. “I feel stupid, Malfoy. Hedwig…” 

“Shut up, Potter. She wasn’t just an owl, and if you say she was, I swear I will punch you in the nose.” 

“Your mother tucked us in, like we were children.” 

“She doesn’t mind.” 

“It’s embarrassing.” 

“Only because you make it that way. It’s fine.” I kissed him on the forehead. “There’s no harm in needing a mother from time to time. You didn’t grow up with one, so it’s OK that you need one now.” 

“Why do you always have to be right?” 

“Because I’m Draco Malfoy.” I smirked and kissed him on the forehead again. “It’s a burden, I know.”


	23. 11 February 2011 - Love Is...

Love is… three different buses full of American tourists. 

Love is… a ridiculously terrible selfie taken with Potter whilst standing on the Prime Meridian.

Love is… lifting your fiancé up so that he can touch the copper hull of the Cutty Sark. 

I finally figured out Valentine’s Day. 

Ever since deciding he was done with chasing Dark Wizards and other criminals, Potter hasn’t known what to do with himself. It’s been twelve years since he killed Voldemort, so twelve years that he hasn’t really had a purpose. We’ve filled our days with reading, long walks, laying in front of the fireplace, spending time with friends and family, and taking care of Teddy. He’s been reading a lot of history again. 

Thankfully, he’s done with American history. Our trip to Boston a few years ago pretty much ended that. We had a good time, but it was the travel that killed his desire to learn more. We’ve decided we’re happier flying on broomsticks than in gigantic metal tubes. 

But any way, my history professor fiancé has been focused on maritime history as of late. So, for Valentine’s this year, I booked us an entire weekend in Greenwich. I wouldn’t tell him where we were going and I didn’t want to reveal the surprise too soon, so we took Muggle transportation to get to Greenwich and when we got there, it took him a few minutes for him to figure out where we actually were. 

He dropped his bag at his feet and launched himself at me. “Thank you, Malfoy!” He hugged me tightly and peppered my face with kisses. 

“So did I do it right?”

“Do what right?”

“Thinking outside the textbook.”

Potter’s face lit up in only the way it does when I do something really, really right. “Yes. You did it right.” He picked his bag up. “Let’s go to the hotel so I can show you how much I appreciate this.” 

I kissed him on the cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Potter.” I held his hand as we walked across the street to the hotel. 

Once we got into our room, Potter lit the fireplace. “Nice room, Draco.” His voice was soft, he sounded almost shy. “You did a good job.” 

We settled in front of the fire, me on my back with his head on my chest, our legs entangled, our fingers intertwined. “Rest up, Harry. We have a full day tomorrow. I’ve got us a private tour of the Maritime Museum and then a special tour of the Cutty Sark.”

“You really went through all that trouble for me?” 

“You… you like history and right now, you’re into ships and stuff.” I kissed the top of his head. “Plus, you would have done the same for me. No. You have done the same for me.” 

“This is the best Valentine’s Day ever.” 

\-----

He's sleeping now. Apparently, my brilliant blow job was too much for him to handle... I'm a little depressed it was only 'brilliant', but he'd lost all ability for speech about halfway through. _That's_ the compliment I was looking for. It's not often that I manage to take his brain completely offline to the point where he can't even moan my name, but I did it today.

I had a few moments during our trip where I had the overwhelming urge to tell him that I loved him, and I told him so each time it popped into my head. That might have pleased him more than the actual location of our long Valentine's Day weekend. 

I love him when he's sprawled out all over the bed, his arm thrown across my waist, snoring. He's so relaxed, even more so after an orgasm, and it's one of the few times that the weight of being The Boy Who Lived is truly absent. I see him in this state often enough, but every time feels like the first time. He's getting better at handling the Remembrance Ceremonies and seeing Teddy go off to Hogwarts, but the pain, the sorrow, the memory of what he'd done, and who he lost continues to follows him around. He still has nightmares, bad ones, but even those are becoming fewer and far between. I'd like to think he's finally healing and that I had something to do with it. Maybe I did by not pressuring him to talk about the past. He's got to deal with things in his own time, and it takes a long time for him to get to a point where he can talk about things.

I suppose I can't complain too much. Recently, he's been opening up more. I learnt about Sirius Black the other day. How Voldemort tricked Potter into going to the Ministry. About my father's role in the battle in the Department of Mysteries. How Bella killed Sirius. It was too much to hear, seeing how my family played a starring role in the fight, but I stayed quiet and let Potter mourn his Godfather in a way he hadn't yet done in our relationship... even when we lived in Sirius's home.

I wished I could have been there that night, to protect him, but I know deep down that I would have helped Father and the Death Eaters, even though I wasn't old enough to join their ranks. I don't talk about Father, or the Death Eaters, at all with Potter. It would bring up all the memories that I'm not equipped to deal with. He hasn't asked about Father or what it was like to be a Death Eater, and I love him for that. I don't miss Father at all and I'm glad he's dead. I definitely couldn't tell Potter that, although I'm sure he knows.

He's waking up, making the little moans and groans he makes when he's not ready to be awake. It's adorable. _He's_ adorable.

OH! He's definitely awake now. **ALL OF HIM.** I guess I'll have to...that's his mouth. Oh, sweet Merlin's tits, that's his mou...

********** 2015: Potter, you have the best ways to keep me from writing in my journal. Please don't ever stop distracting me.


	24. 2 May 2013 - Wedding Day

As I write this, I’m in our room at the Manor, and Potter’s sequestered away at the Burrow. In several hours, we’ll meet at Hogwarts and exchange our vows in the Great Hall. 

This is either the most brilliant or most daft thing we’ve ever done…

It’s the 15 year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. 

It’s the 15 year anniversary of the day The Boy Who Lived became the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

It’s the 15 year anniversary of the day Potter and I hid under the tree and agreed to a truce.

Potter’s going to go give his speech as usual, but this year it’s going to be a little different. Ginny, Hermione, Molly, Mother and I helped him write it, and it’s absolutely beautiful. It’s about love and loss. Death and rebirth. Healing and changing. Forgiveness and moving forward. Merlin. I’m tearing up just thinking about it. It’s so beautiful. It’s perfect for such a milestone. 

Potter and I didn’t announce our engagement. It wasn’t important at the time; everyone who needed to know, knew. 

We’ve made the decision that our wedding was to be different... And we chose this specific day for it. Five long years of waiting for this day.

We are actually going to celebrate our anniversary on our anniversary from now on.

No more holding on to the past. No more holding on to the War. 

This is Potter’s last year being trotted out for the Remembrance Ceremony and we’ve decided to make a party out of it. 

After his speech, Potter’s going to make the announcement that we’re going to be getting married in the Great Hall. We’re not expecting it to go over well, but at this point, we don’t care. If they want to come and watch us, they’re more than welcome to. If they don’t want to… well, we have Dumbledore’s Army and what’s left of the Order of the Phoenix acting as security. No matter what happens, the House Elves are serving a buffet and we’ll be dancing until the wee hours of the morning. We’re done with letting the War run our lives. We’re moving on and living our lives the way we want to. 

Why Hogwarts? It had to be Hogwarts. We argued about every location we could think of, except for the school that started it all. When McGonagall approved, the date fell into place. We have the Headmistress’s approval and that’s good enough for us. 

I’m excited. I’m nervous.

I’m in love with Harry Potter. 

I’m marrying Harry Potter. 

I’m going to be Harry Potter’s husband. 

That reminds me, we still haven’t decided on our names. 

We’ve talked about hyphenating, and that became ugly. Am I Draco Malfoy-Potter or Draco Potter-Malfoy?

We talked about just changing them, but we couldn’t decide who had the better last name. (Seriously, Harry Malfoy and Draco Potter? *sigh*) 

We talked about changing our last name to Black, as in Mother’s maiden name, and Potter’s Godfather’s name. Draco Black sounds like some 1980’s Muggle rock star. I don’t do spandex.

We even talked about changing our last name to Evans, like his mum’s maiden name. I could live with being Draco Evans, if that’s what he wants…

I would do anything for him. Even become a 1980’s spandex wearing hack.

————-

I should be practicing my vows. I should be getting dressed. 

I should be doing so much right now to prepare. 

But, really, all I can think about is that he said yes… 

Well, that and drunken wedding night sex. Or sober wedding night sex. I'm not going to be fussy.

(And how great is it that we still go at each other almost daily?)

I'm so fucking fortunate... I know this, even if I can’t tell him easily. 


	25. 2 May 2013 - Remembrance Ceremony / Wedding Announcement

**Taped in the journal, in Harry's handwriting:**

On October 31st, 1981, my parents were killed by Lord Voldemort, the Darkest Wizard the world had ever known. That day, my mother’s love protected me from the Killing Curse and caused it to rebound and strike Voldemort. I never knew my parents… when I was growing up, I was told that they were killed in a car accident. 

When I turned eleven, and started Hogwarts, my life turned upside down. I was eleven years old, the Boy Who Lived, and the stupid scar, my souvenir from that Halloween, made me a marked man. None of my years at Hogwarts were relatively peaceful...

People have died around me my entire life. Including me. I gave the Wizarding World everything I had when I died in the forest. It’s only by sheer force of will, or stubbornness, that I came back to destroy Voldemort. I don’t deserve all the fame and fortune. I may have been the only one that could deliver the killing blow, but I never would have been able to disable Voldemort to the point where it was possible without a lot of help. Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, I couldn’t have done it without your brains and loyalty. Narcissa Malfoy, I couldn’t have done it without your bravery in the forest. Neville Longbottom, I couldn't have done it without you destroying the last Horcrux. To the members of Dumbledore’s Army and the Order of the Phoenix… there’s so many of you to name, and I don’t want to hurt feelings by forgetting anyone… but I certainly wouldn’t be standing here without your support. Molly and Arthur Weasley, you’ve been the parents I’ve needed as I figured out how to balance being a boy with being a celebrity.

Every year, I come out here and I thank those who supported me over the years, who fought along side me… and every year, I read the list of those who lost their lives fighting to make the Wizarding World a better place for themselves, and future generations. I look at this crowd, and I get this terrible pit in my stomach. For some of you, this is a once a year thing. You come out, you listen, you place wreaths, and you go to the buffet in the Great Hall… and you forget, until the next year rolls around.

Well, there’s the thing. I don’t forget. I live this War every single day. I can’t forget the people who died. I can’t forget the people who helped me. I can’t forget what it felt like to face down Voldemort and know I was going to die. I come out here every year, read the same, old, tired, speeches and put on a happy face. But for me, the War doesn’t end just because I leave the Ceremony…

We talk about healing and moving forward, but I still see where the battle lines were historically drawn. There’s still the shadows of our Houses. We still shy away from those who are different. So. For fifteen years, I’ve had someone stand by my side through better or through worse. He’s one of the few lives that I was actually able to save… but, more importantly, he’s saved my life. Every day for the past fifteen years. I made a promise to my fiancé that I wasn’t going to keep letting the War run my life. Today is the last day I will stand before you as the keynote speaker. Today is the last day I will ‘celebrate’ the war. 

Fifteen years ago, today, I called a truce with my childhood nemesis. Fifteen years ago today, we started something that transcends time, loyalties, and whatever else. For fifteen years, he has stood by my my side, in ways no one else would ever have been able to. So… Today, I celebrate the truce and the beginning of my new life. Draco Malfoy and I will be getting married in the Great Hall this afternoon, and you’re all invited!


	26. 3 May 2013 - Wedding Vows

**Harry's Wedding Vows:**

My dear, beloved, Malfoy - I will love you daily, even when you’re not quite lovable, but especially on those days when you’re being a ginormous twat. So, most days.

I know I’m not perfect, but I will try to be respectful of your unique talents, abilities, and quirks. Even those talents, abilities, and quirks that drive me ‘round the bend. 

I will try to remember that your silences speak much louder than your words ever have. I will continue to frustrate and challenge you. I will continue to share the good things and the not-so-good things with you, and some day, if the stars align, I might actually let you win at Seeker Chase. 

I will always make sure the fireplace is lit. I will never put you in danger… again. Whilst we’re on the topic, I will also never make you eat using chopsticks… again. I will be the best me that I can in a way that makes you your best you. I will always come to your rescue… 

I love you, Malfoy. I never thought I’d say those words to you. I never thought I’d mean them as much as I do. But I do… Sweet Merlin’s tits, I do. 

\-----

**Draco's Wedding Vows:**

Potter, I used to think that being a Muggle was like being doomed to a life of boredom, but you’ve taught me to find the magic in even the stupidest littlest things, like the way you snuffle and talk in your sleep… 

I promise not to hold your terrible fashion sense against you. I promise not to spend our entire combined fortune at Bond Street, Saville Row, and Westfield’s London. I promise I will learn - finally - how to make Molly’s chicken noodle soup when you get sick. I promise that I will make sure your lucky Liverpool football kit is cleaned for every game day, but especially for those game days when we’re at Anfield and even more so on the days Liverpool play Arsenal. 

I promise to make sure there’s always enough food in the house for when the Weasleys comes to visit, and that there’s enough Hangover Potions available after Finnegan and Thomas leave. 

I keep saying ‘promise’, but these vows are more like privileges: I get to spend the rest of my life with you, laughing, and crying, caring and sharing… and not talking. 

You know me better than anyone else in the world and somehow you still manage to love me. You really are my best friend and my one true love. A huge part of me is struggling to believe that, despite everything we’ve been through since we were eleven years old, I’m standing here next to you, ready to become your husband. 

I never thought I’d fall in love with you, Potter. I never thought that I would struggle to tell someone I loved them as much as I struggle to tell you, but you put up with me and one day, I’ll figure out how to actually open my mouth and say it... I love you, Potter. I do. Sweet Merlin's tits, I do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This felt like the logical place to end things, even though I'll miss these guys... 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos and comments! They mean the world to me.


End file.
